Burnt Marshmallow
by Cuba Endeavour
Summary: Stiles & his dad endure a familiar health scare. Is it the dementia for real, another misdiagnosis, or just the after effects of Stiles' accident in the garage? Stiles and Sheriff alternating POV. Set between 3B and 4 (as if the Kate cliffhanger never happened) Whumpy Stiles.
1. Chapter 1

stiles-and-the-sourwolf on tumblr asked for people to write some whumpy Stiles fic. They wrote out a list of prompts two caught my eye and I decided to combine them.

Prompt 1 - Smoke inhalation problems that don't show until later

Prompt 2 - Stiles gets trapped in a garage with a running car, toxic fumes, or some other potentially lethal circumstance where he needs to fight to get out

I've written a LOT of fic, but never for Teen Wolf before. I avoid writing for American fandoms because I'm English (and know how bugged I get by stuff like 'Hermione's valedictorian speech at graduation' in Harry Potter fanfic.) I hope my Englishness isn't noticeable.

* * *

 **Burnt Marshmallow**

Burnt marshmallow.

If Stiles had just smelled the scent of burnt marshmallow and thought, 'Huh, somebody must have been toasting marshmallow and gotten a little overzealous', everything in their lives would be totally different now.

But, of course, Stiles had an inquisitive mind.

They were both in therapy now.

He had argued that he had every reason, both times, to believe that his son had Frontotemporal Dementia. He had Googled the hell out of Münchhausen by proxy in order to defend himself against the accusations of child abuse.

"He's nearly eighteen! This is a thing people do to much younger children"

Melissa had to do a lot of work to gather evidence to defend him. She knew what she was looking for. She managed to get her colleague to agree to testify if it came down to it. There was no way that he, no matter how much power a county Sheriff might have, could fake MRI results in front of two medical professionals as the MRI was happening.

There was a halfhearted and utterly lame suggestion that the MRI being incomplete, due to a power surge and power failure at the hospital, could have been down to the Sheriff, but the burden of proof was on the accuser and they had nothing but a shrug to offer to back up the theory.

He'd looked it up when it was first raised as a suspicion. He had to concede, if Stiles had been much younger he'd be thinking the same thing.

 _The child sees a lot of doctors and has been in the hospital a lot._

 _The child often has had many tests, surgeries, or other procedures._

 _The child has strange symptoms that don't quite fit any disease. The symptoms do not match the test results._

 _The child's symptoms are reported by the parent, but are never seen by health care professionals. The symptoms are gone in the hospital, but start again when the child goes home._

 _Blood samples do not match the child's blood type._

 _Drugs or chemicals are found in the child's urine, blood, or stool._

Now he did have to own up to something there. He'd had no idea how much Stiles was abusing his Adderall. He'd been so careful with the anti-depressants but hadn't monitored the other medication. They were both prescription drugs and yet he'd only taken one of them seriously.

The restraint it had taken him not to mutter, "Well, when _isn't_ he covered in other people's blood?"

Thanks to Melissa, the symptoms the hospital never got to witness thing was thrown out as soon as she pointed out the part of Stiles' file that covered the time he took himself to the hospital to see his doctor, listing the exact same symptoms his father had reported.

So, he wasn't a child abuser and wasn't even officially suspected of it.

Just questioned...a lot.

That on top of two separate dementia scares, and the real things going on to cause them, he almost welcomed the idea of therapy for both of them.

'Hell, therapy for all', he thought, 'the therapy's on me!'

The knock on the door jolted the Sheriff out of his thoughts. Stiles stampeding down the stairs, wrestling himself into his jacket as he went, flattened the last remaining thoughts into dust.

"It's for me, dad, bye!" Stiles yelled toward the kitchen, before seeing his father standing right in front of him.

"Where are you going, with who, and what time are you coming back?"

"With whom, dad, with whom?"

" _Whom_ am I kicking your ass in front of today, son?"

Stiles grinned and swung open the door to reveal a bored looking Derek Hale.

"Derek's taking me to therapy," Stiles said, patting the unimpressed man on the chest, "and he's mighty thrilled about it."

"How did this happen to you?" The Sheriff asked Hale.

"I ask myself the exact same question every day." Hale spoke in a monotone, jaw clenched and eyes refusing to meet Stiles'.

"Scott's got work and Lydia's got three advanced placement classes worth of homework to do, so she'll be done by noon and then want to go shopping as a reward. Derek gets to spend his Saturday reading really old magazines in a waiting room." Stiles grin fell quickly as he glared at Hale. "And no listening in to my session, right?"

"I have neve-" Hale began.

"No starting today."

"What's today?" The Sheriff asked with a frown.

"Nothing special, nothing unusual, same ol' same ol'. Come on Derek, let's get in the..." Stiles deflected attention badly away from the question and peered over Hale's shoulder.

"Stiles?" The Sheriff said, with suspicion.

Hale glanced over his shoulder to see what had caught Stiles' eye, then looked back, none the wiser.

"Nothing," Stiles said, still distracted and searching the street, "I didn't forget if I forgot my Adderall and took some just in case I did and then... Dude, where's your car?"

"You took too much medication and then watched an awful movie?" The Sheriff rubbed at his deeply furrowed brow, before shaking his head and realizing that couldn't have happened. "Wait, I have your Adderall"

"Not all of it," Stiles said, looking at his father as if he had no idea what the problem was.

"Get him...to therapy...now," the Sheriff said, with more weary tension that Hale had ever managed to muster in all his encounters with Stiles.

"My car?" Hale almost winced as he asked the question.

"Yeah, did you walk or something? You came to pick me up so we could take the bus together? That's not a ride, y'know?" Stiles reached for the keys to the Jeep and Hale and the Sheriff both reached to take them back at the same time.

"No driving until you get the all clear!" The Sheriff snapped, snagging the keys and putting them in his pocket.

Hale simply sighed, very deeply, and his expression changed from one of disgruntlement to compassion.

"We're taking my car, like all the times before," Hale gestured to his car, parked on the street right behind him.

Stiles looked suddenly plaintive. He fussed with his jacket and pretended to be checking for his phone and his wallet.

"Okay, so see ya, dad. I'll call you when we get back home and start dinner when the alarm goes off." He waved his phone, humorlessly, as he mentioned the alarm he had to set daily to remind him to eat.

"Stiles," Hale said, leaning in and lowering his voice, "it's okay."

Stiles shook off his momentary melancholy and smiled at both of them, bouncing on the balls of his feet and pocketing his phone.

"So, which one is it?"

"The Toyota."

Stiles gaped.

"You got rid of the Camaro for that? I got so messed up I forgot you becoming a soccer mom?"

"Same joke, every time," Hale said, back to his usual demeanor.

He steered Stiles toward the car by the shoulder and cast a look of commiseration back to the Sheriff.

The Sheriff watched them go. He put the key for the Jeep on his key-fob, where Stiles couldn't get to it, and trudged up to his son's bedroom to search for a secret stash of Adderall.

Damn burnt marshmallow.

* * *

"Yeah, it smells of burnt marshmallow," Stiles said into the phone as he walked around his Jeep, looking for any signs of a problem.

Well, _further_ problems.

"Huh? The steering? Come to think of it, yeah, it does get this whining noise when I turn the steering wheel. It's been like that a while, though."

He crouched down to look under the Jeep before jolting back upright at what he heard.

"The whole steering rack? How much is that gonna be?"

The answer was not a good one. He slumped back down into a squatting position and peered under the car.

"No, there's no leak, no fluid. There's nothing under the car at all. What boot?"

Stiles lay on his side and activated the torch on his phone, directing it at the underside of his Jeep.

"So I could get away with just replacing the rubber thing then?"

The garage door opened and his dad stood for a moment, wearing his uniform and carrying his coffee cup, waiting for Stiles to hang up.

"So, did you toast marshmallows and forget?" His dad looked like he knew this was going to be expensive.

"I have a power steering leak, the guy thinks I'll have to replace the entire steering rack." Stiles rubbed the back of his head before getting back to his feet.

His dad sipped his coffee, then looked over to Stiles' old bicycle.

"You know what never leaks and still works fine?"

"I'm not riding the bike!" Stiles said, firmly.

"Well then, I'd say you were getting a job."

"Or, I'm going to learn how to fix this myself."

"No."

"It could just be this rubber boot thing that needs replacin-"

"No Googling auto repairs. I don't want to see you and this Jeep wrapped around a tree."

Stiles waved a dismissive hand towards his dad and turned his attention back to his Jeep. He had to focus, find the right information, clear instructions, and he could do this.

No being ripped off by smug mechanics. No having his car held to ransom while a dozen other fake problems are found, or rather deliberately caused. More than anything, no more watching people screaming as they were crushed to death beneath...

"Stiles!"

His dad had obviously been trying to get his attention for a while now.

"Sorry, I was just thinking."

"Now I _am_ worried," his dad muttered.

"Go to work, dad, I promise I won't completely dismantle the car while you're gone."

His dad gave him a stern look and lifted his coffee cup, as if they were drinking to agree on those terms. Stiles gave a nod and walked out of the garage with him.

After seeing his dad off for the day Stiles felt uneasy from the memories of the incident at the mechanic's garage. He'd completely zoned out on his dad. He must need Adderall. Dry swallowing two pills, he told himself he was doing nothing wrong. He'd said he wouldn't _completely_ dismantle the car. He could dismantle a small part of it, that was within the rules they'd agreed upon. He was just going to dismantle the part that wasn't working and make it work again.

Good old Internet was going to be his mechanic, his trustworthy, cheap, not 'screaming through their horrific death throes' mechanic.

The dry swallowed pills felt as if they had stuck in his throat so he hurried to the refrigerator and downed the remaining contents of a carton of orange juice. He grabbed a bag of chips on his way out of the house and took out his phone to start searching for a place to buy what he needed for the repair. He'd found some videos of how to stop a power steering leak so knew a stopgap cheat he could try.

After calling Scott and whining until he agreed to pick up some fluid leak repair gunk and bring it to the house, he got to work under the hood.

By the time Scott arrived Stiles was singing 'Ho Hey' and waving around a plastic bottle of what really looked like urine.

"Please tell me you didn't," Scott winced as he spoke.

"What?" Stiles saw the bag in Scott's hand and hurried over, swapping his bottle for the leak repair bottle in the bag. "Thanks dude. I've seen three Australian guys doing this on their cars, I'm like a pro now. Fair enough, none of their cars were Jeeps but an engine is an engine, right?"

"Um..."

"A fluid reservoir is a fluid reservoir and, yeah, the brake fluid reservoir might have been the first reservoir I drained and then had to refill but I got it eventually. I'm saying reservoir a lot aren't I?"

Scott nodded, dumbly.

Stiles eyes lit up as he pointed at the bottle Scott was holding for him, "Smell it!"

Scott looked at the bottle he was holding away from his body, doubtfully.

"Do I have to?"

"It's like burnt marshmallow, it's really cool. Most stuff that's not supposed to leak stinks of bad stuff but that's not bad."

"Oh, this is the steering fluid?" Scott relaxed now that he knew what he was holding. "I was worried. It was...warm."

"I may have drained it all. The video guys said only drain a bit and the back of this bottle says that too. It won't matter will it? I emptied the whole thing. I can put it back and it'll be fine, right?"

"Stiles," Scott approached, visibly relaxing now he was on familiar turf, and not holding a bottle of his best friends pee, "how many Adderall, dude?"

"Only some," Stiles shrugged and poured the whole bottle of the leak fixer into the appropriate reservoir, well he hoped it was.

He paused.

"That was the one for the steering fluid wasn't it?"

"I don't know," Scott said with a helpless shrug, "smell it?"

"It smells like this stuff now!" Stiles flailed, before leaning over and unscrewing another cap and sniffing. "No, that's not burnt marshmallow, we're good. I didn't just gum up my brake fluid!"

Stiles raised his hand for a high five and Scott obliged with a fond smile.

"You know nothing about what you just did do you?"

"No idea!" Stiles beamed, before making grabby hands at the bottle in Scott's hands. "Let's see if that matters."

Scott stayed for reheated leftovers and a couple of hours on the Playstation before a date with Kira took priority. Stiles headed straight back to that garage to see if his quick fix had worked.

He climbed into the diver's seat and turned the key in the ignition. The Jeep roared into life and Stiles gripped the steering wheel and turned it left and right, listening for the whining sound he'd become so familiar with. There was nothing. His face brightened and he drove outside the garage. Engine still running, he put the parking brake on and hopped out to hit the switch to close the garage door, then jumped back into the Jeep. He was going to take his baby for a spin to make sure he'd solved the problem.

As soon as he took the parking brake off, however, the Jeep rolled backwards, back into the garage. The door was still slowly coming down, just grazing the roof of the Jeep as it passed under. Stiles slammed his foot on the brake but nothing happened.

"Oh shit."

He had done something to the brake fluid. How had he done something to the brake fluid? He'd smelled it and everything!

He pulled the parking brake again and the Jeep stopped. Stiles jumped out and ran to stop the garage door from closing, fell over the damn bike his dad wanted him to ride again, and scrambled towards the door just as it was about to meet the floor.

Then the stupid kicked in.

He slid his fingers under the door to try to pull it up.

The door crushed down on his fingers, the mechanism stopped. Stiles was trapped, face down, in the garage door. The Jeep's engine was still running.

"Oh my God, I'm going to be one of those Darwin Award people," he whimpered.

The Darwin awards, for those people who caused their own death in such stupid ways the gene pool was better off for it.

Of all the ways he could have died, nobly saving his friends, fighting a supernatural threat, from a debilitating illness that was totally not his fault, and here he was. He was going to be the guy who accidentally killed himself because he shut his fingers in the garage door.

Stiles felt around with his free hand for his phone and tried to keep his face as close to the tiny crack of fresh air his crushed fingers afforded him. He dialed Scott's number.

No answer. Of course, date with Kira, Scott dating was like Scott being deaf and blind as far as anyone else was concerned.

His dad? Ugh, no, last resort.

Derek?

Okay so his dad, then.

"Peter!" Stiles suddenly exclaimed.

Then he blinked and shook his head. His head must be lost the fumes already.

He dialed. His dad's phone was going straight to voicemail. Stiles tried to take a deep breath through the narrow slit beneath the garage door, then dialed dispatch.

"Beacon County Sheriff's Departmen-"

"Hey, it's Stiles, can you get my dad please?"

"Stiles, you know you're not supposed to c-"

"Anyone, send anyone, I'm locked in my garage with the engine running and I can't get out!"

"Are you serious?"

"You want to talk about it for a little while?"

"Somebody's coming right now, Stiles, is there any ventilation? Anywhere you can get some air?"

"I'm literally pressed up against the only bit of fresh air there is," Stiles said, head starting to spin.

He heard the Dispatcher shouting to somebody to go and get his dad. He tried to think. The average time for a police response was...it was...

He knew this stuff.

Why didn't he know this?

"Stiles?"

The dispatcher was back on the line.

"How long?" Stiles wheezed.

"They're coming, okay? The closest car is on it's way. All the cars are on their way actually. We have an ambulance coming too. It's going to be okay? Okay, Stiles?"

The dispatcher didn't answer the question. Was it one he knew? Was it a new one? They had a lot of new people after he'd killed most of the force when he was the Nogitsune.

"Stiles!" His dad's voice. It was his dad now. He could ask his dad who it was.

He drew in a breath and vomited.

"Stiles, they're coming, they're almost there. I'm coming too but you've got to get to the air. Smash a window, break the garage door, I don't care, just do it."

"I can't move," Stiles slurred, then spat out some revolting bile.

"God," he could hear his dad starting to lose it.

"S'okay, dad," he mumbled, "I'm just dizzy. I feel sick."

"Can you reach the fresh air? Any fresh air?"

"I puked on the fresh air," Stiles said, groggily.

"That's...That doesn't matter. I know it's unpleasant but you keep as close to the fresh air as possible. We're all coming, okay son?"

"Dad? 'm sorry dad." Stiles felt so woozy now, he just wanted to sleep.

"No, come on, they're right there. You must be able to hear them now. Listen, Stiles."

"It's not the Jeep's fault y'know?" Stiles mumbled.

"Cordova, keep talking to him," his dad said to someone, "I have to get there. Don't let him stop talking."

Cordova! He knew Deputy Cordova. His dad liked Cordova. His dad was coming. That was nice. The smell was not. It was awful. Why didn't things smell of better stuff? Why didn't things smell of different types of marshmallow? Power steering fluid had the right idea.

"Stiles, it's me again, your dad's coming right now and the other officers are practically pulling onto your street right now. It's all going to be okay. Okay Stiles?"

Stiles retched, then coughed up some more bile.

"Stiles?"

"I said reservoir a lot today," Stiles slurred.

"O...kay, that's good. That's a good vocabulary word. You need that for your PSATs. They're coming soon, right?"

"Tara?" Stiles whispered.

"No, Stiles, not... Tara d... Tara doesn't work here anymore, remember?"

"Tara wants me to do well," Stiles signed, closing his eyes.

"You're going to do _so_ well," Cordova said.

It sounded so far away. He wanted to be sick again. Everywhere smelled so bad. What was with the awful smell?

"Stiles, can you talk to me? Can you tell me some more vocabulary words?" Cordova said from a thousand miles away.

Stiles eyes were too heavy. He sighed on the heavy air and mumbled one last thing.

"Burnt Marshmallow."


	2. Chapter 2

Of all the things he expected, seeing Derek Hale ripping his garage door open with his bare hands was not one of them. How he had known he was needed the Sheriff had no idea, but he was so glad.

As his deputies dragged his unconscious son out of the garage an EMT put an oxygen mask over his face and started working on him. Hale was just standing over the two of them, looking as if he understood nothing other than 'noisy movement boy' was being quiet and still and that was wrong.

The Sheriff seemed to get from inside his cruiser to on his knees beside his son. It had happened, he couldn't ever tell you how, but it did. He moved to hold Stiles' hand but recoiled as he saw the reddened and swollen fingers. He didn't want to get in the way. Stiles couldn't hear him. He didn't want to take control of the scene, he just wanted to be with his son. Eventually he came up with something

He came up with something to say and something for Hale to do.

"Can somebody turn off the damn Jeep?"

It had been enough. Hale had snapped out of it and turned the keys, then took them out of the ignition. The Sheriff suddenly got a grip. He'd had to do it before, when Stiles went missing. It hit him, he reeled, then he was the Sheriff again.

He got to his feet and let the EMT work.

"Okay, great job, everybody. Thank you, but I'm going to have to be off duty now. I need all of you to get back in your cars, back to the station, and back on the job."

Some of the long term deputies, he couldn't even say 'the older ones' because some of the longest serving officers in the department were deemed young newbies before...well before, gave him a pat on the shoulder before leaving. There were lots of reassurances that Stiles was going to be fine.

As his son's eyes fluttered open, red and watery, the whole of Beacon Hills Sheriff Department seemed to unclench and the officers left with lighter hearts and relieved smiles.

He knelt and reached again for the damaged hand. He corrected himself in time and ran his hand through his son's hair before settling it on his shoulder.

"The lengths you go to not to have to ride that bike," he choked out.

Stiles tried to laugh but the EMT talked him through how to breathe using the mask.

"My head hurts," Stiles said through the mask.

"You and me both, kid," the Sheriff said, closing his eyes.

Stiles reached to pull down his mask but the EMT stopped him.

"I know the mask is on tight but it's very important."

"Do as you're told, Stiles," the Sheriff said, deliberately taking Stiles other hand so he couldn't interfere with his treatment.

"I feel really sick, dad," Stiles tried to roll over onto his side.

"It must be awful, son, but we're just trying to make it go away as soon as we can, all right?"

"I'm going to go and get Scott," Hale said, stiffly.

"He's on a date," Stiles said, eyes half lidded.

"And yet the world keeps turning. I'm going to remind him of that." Hale spoke through gritted teeth before making a move to go.

"Don't worry him unnecessarily," the Sheriff said, "let him know he's going to be alright."

Hale said nothing, just looked down at Stiles, and stormed off.

Stiles squeezed his hand and the Sheriff looked down at him with a reassuring smile.

"Scott's gonna be so pissed. Derek's going to barge in on him and Allison doing it and it's all my fault."

The Sheriff looked at the EMT, brow furrowed and shook his head.

"It's fine, confusion is to be expected, we'll get him to hospital and they'll explain how carbon monoxide affects the brain. It's going to be fine, Sheriff."

Another EMT approached with a gurney.

"Are you coming with us in the Ambulance, Sheriff?"

He nodded, moving back so they could move his son. As soon as they started wheeling Stiles towards the ambulance he grabbed his unhurt hand and squeezed.

"Dad," Stiles blinked up at him, "me and Scott ate all the leftovers and I'm gonna be in the hospital. I can't make you dinner tonight."

"There you go," the first EMT smiled, "it's always amazing how fast they come back once the oxygen takes effect.

"I'll eat lentils and salad if you promise you'll rest and keep breathing this good air as long as they tell you to." The Sheriff said as he finally relaxed his shoulders.

"You can have pizza if you want, special treat, I'll never know." Stiles eyes closed again.

"You won't tell on me?" The Sheriff asked.

"Secret's safe with me."

* * *

Scott brought him something to read, comic books that Lydia scoffed at, but Stiles couldn't get his eyes to focus and said he'd save them for later.

"Get back to your date, Allison's waiting," he said as Scott started to make excuses to leave.

Lydia pinched her lips together between her teeth and looked from Scott to his mother, before smiling at Stiles and taking the comic books.

"Kira's outside waiting for him," she said, brightly. "They are going to be romantic wherever they are, even on plastic chairs in a hospital."

"Heart eyes under fluorescent lights." Stiles chuckled, not noticing his slip up.

It was as if Kira and Allison were interchangeable in his head. The doctors had tried to explain to him that he'd be confused for a while. The thing was, he found nothing confusing. Everybody else, however, they looked baffled all the time.

Scott sat back down beside Stiles and curled his fingers around his forearm, above the bandages on his crushed hand, and slowly drew out some of the pain.

Stiles angled his head to see what he was doing, but his oxygen mask dug into his cheekbones, uncomfortably, so he lay back onto his pillow with a sigh.

"That and painkillers combined is really nice, dude."

Scott smiled, looking dopey, and turned to look up at his mother.

"He's not actually hurting that much," Scott said, eyes glazing.

Melissa swatted his hand away from Stiles.

"I think you're getting high off his meds more than anything. Don't you dare get straight on that motorcycle after this. Coffee and a half hour wait before you even try it, okay?"

"Yeah dude, don't be going swimming right after you eat," Stiles sighed, sleepily, "you'll get cramps and die."

Lydia took out her phone and began filming Stiles with affection.

"Hey Stiles?" Lydia waited until she had his attention, still filming his masked face and breaking into an irrepressible smile. "Do you have any words of wisdom for yourself in the future?"

Stiles thought for a moment, humming to himself, and then looked back with a slow blink.

"Dude, you know nothing about fixing cars."

Everybody laughed and Scott made his way out of the room, bumping against the door frame as he went.

"Seriously, an hour," Melissa said, tension visible in her shoulders, "you're not riding that motorcycle for an hour!"

"Or swimming!" Stiles yelled and then coughed on his dry, tickley throat.

He tried to sit up but the angle was wrong and the coughs were interfering with his stomach muscles. There was no cooperation going on in his body.

Lydia helped him sit up, then lifted his mask so it still covered his nose, and held a cup of water to his lips.

"Oxygen dries you out," said Lydia, "I remember my throat being like sandpaper when I woke up in here."

Stiles paused from his gulping.

"It's like cotton," he said, looking annoyed.

"That's no good," Lydia tilted the cup back to his lips and Stiles went back to it, draining the last of the liquid, "you need more?"

Stiles shook his head and let himself be lowered back onto the pillows. He wasn't allowed any Adderall, but he had been given his anti depressant. The painkillers and the foggy brain on top of that had caused him to become a tad dopey.

"Cotton candy," he blurted as he got comfortable under the sheets, "that'd be a good side effect. They should flavor the oxygen and then you'd get cotton candy mouth."

"I'll pass that idea on," Melissa said as she stepped toward the door, glancing to Lydia, "will you stay until his dad gets here?"

"Of course," Lydia lifted her chin and gave a prim nod as she spoke.

"He doesn't want him to be alone while he's still disoriented."

"It's fine, Mrs McCall. In fact I think I'll read to him." Lydia picked up one of the comic books.

"Yay!" Stiles said, waving his bandaged hand. "Which ones have you got?"

"Okay, have fun you two, my shift's over now." Melissa waved and stepped out of the room.

Lydia looked through the comic books before snorting.

"The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl? I think Scott's trying to mess with your mind rather than help you clear it."

"No, no, no, you gotta read that one," Stiles said as he stopped Lydia from tossing it aside. "It's all feminist and funny and cool. Did you know she single handedly defeated Thanos? With _squirrels_?"

"I have no idea what Thanos is," Lydia said, blankly.

"You gotta read it, seriously."

Lydia sighed.

"Okay, only if you put your mask back on properly."

Stiles made a petulant whining sound before the arch of a single Lydia Martin eyebrow made him do as he was told.

* * *

The Sheriff got his shifts covered and thanked all the deputies for being so flexible at the last minute. He had a lot of messages to Stiles to pass on, mainly the same sentiment, and promised everyone at the station he'd keep them posted.

As he walked from the car park towards the entrance of the hospital he noticed the familiar figure of Derek Hale lurking in the shadows.

"Are you on your way in or out?" The Sheriff asked.

"Neither," Hale said, seemingly more invested in looking at something on the ground than pleasantries with the town Sheriff, "I was just listening. Making sure everything was okay."

"You can go in an ask, y'know?"

"I can't, actually, medical information can't be given to anybody, especially if they're not related and especially if it's about a minor."

"You seem to know a lot about it."

"Scott's mother told me," Derek gave a one shouldered shrug, "when she left a little while ago. She said he was going to be okay, though."

The Sheriff gave a nod and took a step toward Hale, who looked as if he might step back in turn, but the werewolf stood his ground and finally met the Sheriff's eyes.

"I never thanked you," The Sheriff began, "things were hectic, I was worried, and you went to find Scott. There was no time but...thank you Derek."

"I'll pay to fix the garage door."

"Don't worry about that."

"I want to. I'll get it fixed while he's in here. I can get the car fixed too."

"Just the door, okay?" The Sheriff needed to put a stop to this before Hale offered to pay Stiles' medical bills.

The man clenched his jaw and gave a nod.

"I mean it, thank you for helping to get him out. Those seconds could have made all the difference. That door wasn't budging and he could have been in there up to a minute longer."

Hale looked up at the building beside them and cleared his throat.

"Lydia's still with him, she's waiting for you." Hale caught him up on the goings on in his son's private room with a lot of information, considering he hadn't even stepped through the doors. "She read to him and he's been pretty thirsty. He must be asleep now, he's too calm and quiet."

The Sheriff was about to comment on the update but Hale was already walking away.

Walking into his son's room, he was met with the sight of Lydia Martin carding her fingers through his hair as he slept. The oxygen mask was still in place. The Sheriff had to give credit to the girl, he'd not had high hopes that anyone could have got him to keep that thing on this long.

"Lydia, I'm sorry to keep you here so late. If you want me to call your mom and explain..."

"No, it's fine." Lydia smiled and rose from her chair. "It was great actually. We had a discussion about feminism and how feminists themselves are shamed out of showing their feminine side. There's actually a type of patriarchy within feminism wh-"

"You don't have to fill in for him now that he's asleep, you know."

Lydia looked a little embarrassed before clearing her throat and pulling her coat off the back of her chair.

"Sorry, I just don't get to talk to anyone like that. Stiles is the only one who..." Lydia tailed off and put her coat on, turned and picked up her purse, and then looked back with a bright smile. "I had fun. I'm glad his brain still works in the good way."

The Sheriff snorted.

"Me too. I'm just concerned that all the stuff his brain does that terrifies me is in perfect working order too."

Lydia walked around the bed and self-consciously brushed her hand down his arm for reassurance.

"He stopped mixing up Kira and Allison's names. That's something."

He wanted to say something about that. He knew how painful it must have been for all his son's friends to hear. Lydia put up her fake wall of confidence, gave one of her hair flicks, and clicked her way out of the room and down the halls on her impossible looking heels.

He picked up Stiles' chart and tried to make some sense of it. He'd had enough experience to be able to navigate the basics but a lot of jargon and terrible handwriting made sure is was never as clear to him as a stack of police reports.

Stiles had somehow managed not to break a single bone in his hand. There was grazing, a lot of swelling, and some tendon injuries from Stiles trying to pull his fingers out from underneath the garage door.

He sat beside the bed and flipped through the comic books he found beside an almost empty cup of water. He couldn't help smiling at the thought of that girl from the top of the pedestal reading them to his boy. Twelve year old Stiles would have been so happy.

He had to admit, he was glad that Stiles picked this girl to worship. With his mother gone there was no amazing woman in his life to shape him and his attitude to them, not counting Melissa. Stiles picked the prettiest girl, yes, the most popular one, true, but also the most intelligent. He would come home wanting to read something to impress Lydia. He'd want to learn about the political situation in Poland, after the president died in a plane crash, simply because she'd said, "Stilinski, that's Polish right, do you know anything about that?"

She was very similar to Stiles, though.

Not long after Stiles had been put on Adderall his grades had improved, his behavior was moderately under control, and teachers began to compliment him in class. They'd obviously wanted to encourage the change for the better, but it had enraged young Lydia. After a sudden downturn in his academic performance, and a heart stopping moment when the Sheriff had come home to find one of his guns taken apart and laid out on the kitchen table (he had never screamed at Stiles like that before or since) he found out that he'd stopped taking his medication.

He'd asked why, still shaking over what could have happened with the gun.

Stiles had told him that Lydia found out he was doing better in class because of the pills and said it was cheating. It was the competitive spirit mingled with a spoiled child not getting praised in class as much as usual. Stiles had taken it so much to heart he spat his pills out when the Sheriff wasn't looking and tried to be just as good without them.

After a long talk with Stiles, the school, school counselors and therapists, he'd got Stiles to trust the pills again. A teacher had asked Lydia's mother to try to make Lydia understand what she'd done and before he knew it they were both at his door with faces like thunder. Natalie Martin forced her daughter to apologize to Stiles, which she did with a look that could kill, and his poor boy was mortified.

Their combined humiliation at this incident was soon followed by Stiles becoming invisible to the Martin girl.

Even so, he never stopped trying to impress her.

When a black eye greeted him after school one day he gave Stiles an ice pack and sat down to talk. What he got was an education on the culture of 'slut-shaming' from his son. Lydia Martin was sexually active and some kids had some nasty things to say about that. Stiles had got into a fight, not defending her honor, but over the idea that women enjoying sex are vilified while men enjoying sex are treated as heroes. Stiles made his point with some truly disgusting sexual comments about one of the boys in question.

The Sheriff was amazed all he got was a black eye.

He'd told Stiles that at least Lydia would know what a good guy he was after that. Stiles buried his face into a couch cushion and wailed that the only part of it that got back to her was that he'd come on to the captain of the football team and got beat up for it.

Stiles rolled over in his sleep, winced and tried to knock the oxygen mask away with his bandaged hand.

"No, no, no," the Sheriff said, making sure the mask stayed put, "it's really important this stays on."

Stiles blinked at him, bleary eyed, and he smiled back.

"Go back to sleep."

"Got a headache," Stiles mumbled.

"Okay, I'll see if they can do anything for that. You try to go back to sleep for me, okay?"

Stiles closed his eyes.

The Sheriff waited for a moment before finding somebody to talk to.

"We would be prescribing something like Adderall anyway after something like this, so the fact he's already on it just means we'd recommend he stick to it. Regular doses, but the _right_ dose, do you understand?"

The Sheriff frowned.

"The pills weren't the right kind?"

"The pills were fine, the dosage on the label was right, the blood test we took from your son was not. He's been over-medicating, Sheriff."

Damn it.

"Is it... Was it a problem?" He rubbed his head, roughly. "I mean, I know it's a problem but, will he go through withdrawal?"

"It's nothing like that, he wasn't addicted, and he didn't have a clear enough head to question about this properly, but it does appear that he'll double dose at times of high pressure."

He nodded.

"He puts himself under a lot of that sometimes. I'll... I'll keep an eye on it."

"We think what happened today was, he had a double dose kind of a day, then forgot he'd even taken anything, and did it again."

"Oh God," he could kick himself. "This isn't happening with his anti depressants is it?"

"No, just the Adderall." The doctor tried their best to reassure him and assuage his guilt at the same time.

"He'll keep taking the Adderall, as long as it's properly managed," the doctor paused for him to nod, "and continue with the anti depressants. I can give him something for his headache. This is a common side effect after carbon monoxide poisoning so keep an eye on it and do give him something if it's very bad but, again, please monitor that."

"He's not self medicating anymore, it all goes through me, it's all going to be different now." The Sheriff said, firmly.

"I have to ask," the doctor looked reluctant to bring something up and the Sheriff knew instantly what was coming.

"It wasn't a suicide attempt."

"I'm sure it wasn't. However, I have to bring this up. It was a young man on anti depressants in a closed garage with the engine running. I'm obliged to do this."

"The anti depressants weren't because he was... His mother died and he had behavioral issues already. He was with her when she died, alone with her. He had therapy and the drugs were prescribed."

"There's no judgement going on here, Sheriff. I just hope you'd consider a few sessions for him again. Maybe get him to see his guidance counselor once a week?"

"His guidance counselor, ugh," the Sheriff shook his head and knew how this wouldn't make his 'my son didn't try to kill himself' argument stand up as well as it had a moment ago, "she kind of...broke the trust a while back. She's not at the school any more but, I doubt he'd go for that again."

"Um, well they do open group sessions at Eichen House. I could make some calls and..."

"He...no...Oh God." The Sheriff couldn't stand this. "He was kind of...abused in Eichen House a while back too. I swear, he really isn't suicidal!"

The doctor took pity on him and followed him to Stiles' room. He woke him up to do some checks, gave him something for the headache Stiles was still complaining about, and then told both of them to get some sleep.

Stiles looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

"D'd ya eat anything today?"

"I'll pick up some pizza on the way home."

"Dad, no, that's not heart smart," Stiles said, lifting his head from the pillow.

The Sheriff put a hand on his shoulder to keep him settled and smiled.

"You gave me permission earlier, I have witnesses."

"I did not."

"Scout's honor, cross my heart, you said I could get pizza tonight."

"That doesn't sound like me."

"You had just regained consciousness."

"That doesn't count. Dietary negotiations when I've just had a near death experience aren't binding."

"What about the times you've sworn me to eat a healthy lunch when you've been double dosing on your meds?"

There it was, that familiar 'busted' look on Stiles' face.

"I think most of our prior agreements were made under the influence of too much Adderall and we need a clean slate."

"Hey," Stiles protested, feebly, not in any position to be as indignant as he wanted to be.

"We'll get around the table and re-negotiate my diet at the same time I take control of all your meds."

Stiles' jaw hung open and he made a sound of protest. The Sheriff leaned over him and kissed him on the forehead.

"Get some sleep, son."

Stiles huffed.

"This isn't over, old man!"

"What shall I get on my pizza, I wonder?"

"Veggie, and no stuffed crust!" Stiles pulled down his mask and sat up in his bed.

"Hey, back under the covers and mask on kiddo, or I'm getting the Philly Cheese Steak Pizza!"

Stiles took hold of the mask, before looking at him with narrowed eyes.

"No sides."

"Mask on and stays on until a medical professional takes it off you...and no sides."

Stiles put the mask on and gave a suspicious nod.

"Scott can smell it on you, _and_ knows when you're lying, don't even think about it."

"Scott won't give me up," the Sheriff grinned, "he's always on my side."

"He's a suck up."

" _My_ suck up."

Stiles settled back under the covers and looked about ready to sleep again.

"Derek's got no loyalty to you, he'll tell me everything I want to know, remember that."

"He has to make it through the doors before you get to ask him any favors. Don't hold your breath."

"He was lurking?"

"When isn't he?"

Stiles snorted.

"G'night son."

"Night dad."

The Sheriff turned to leave and had to stifle a chuckle as he heard Stiles call out to the empty hospital room.

"Night Derek!"


	3. Chapter 3

It was a normal recovery.

It was like every other recovery.

Things got better with each day that passed until there was nothing wrong.

Just the odd mild headache, every once in a while.

Hardly worth mentioning.

It tended to happen after he got stuck on his homework.

That happened every once in a while too.

He'd read the paragraph, then turn the page to go on to the next one and realize he took nothing he just read in. So he went back and re-read the paragraph. There, now he could go on.

He turned the page. Paused and thought about what he'd just read.

No, he shook his head and went back again. He could get this. He read each sentence slowly and understood it. The next sentence, fine, understood. It wasn't complicated. The next two sentences, they were in English, he understood every word, he understood how they worked together in a sentence, and what the sentence was supposed to mean.

But, hold on, were they just random sentences? Why were they one after the other in the same paragraph?

He went back to the start of the paragraph.

"What does this stuff even mean?" he grumbled to himself.

Was this waffle? Filler? Did the author have a word count to fulfill? Why was that paragraph there and why did he have to read it and why did it make him so angry that he didn't get it?

And now he had a head-ache.

'Please call somebody and talk to them when this kind of thing comes up', his dad had said.

'No keeping stuff to yourself', Derek had said.

'Ask for help as many times as you want', Melissa had said.

He picked up the phone and dialed Lydia's number.

"Stiles?"

What, no hello? Just straight to it. He really must be an annoyance.

"I'm sorry, are you busy. I'll jus-"

"Stiles, stop it. Tell me what you need."

"Uh, is this book written badly, or in a convoluted way, or...? I'm not taking anything away from it. I'm reading and reading and reading..."

"It's a dull book," Lydia said, firmly, "you're not wrong, okay? It's badly written and uses a lot of tortuous language for no reason."

"Oh good," he couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped as he spoke.

"That assignment isn't due until the end of the week. Close the book and do something else."

"Okay, thanks Lydia."

He already felt better when he hung up.

He decided to go for a drive to clear his head and grabbed a hoodie before heading down the stairs. He grabbed his keys from the small table beside the door, stepped out and then stood frozen as he stared at...nothing.

Where was his Jeep?

He turned to look inside the garage and saw that it was different. He looked for the key on his key ring. He didn't have the key to the garage door.

He looked from the garage to the keys and back again.

His breath caught.

He lost a key before. He had a key and lost a key and it was the start of everything going to shit and where was his Jeep and his key and the door? Where was his garage door? Whose garage door was this? What the fuck?

"Stiles!"

Derek was there.

"Derek am I going crazy? Is that not the same door?"

Derek's eyes flicked to the garage and back before he swallowed and gripped Stiles' shoulders. He looked him right in the eye.

"It's not the same door. I broke the old door and bought a new one. This is a new garage door. You're not crazy."

Stiles looked back at the door and then it was like a bucket of water had been dumped over his head and he had no idea why he was so scared.

"I fucked up my Jeep, the Jeep's in the shop."

Derek let go of Stiles' shoulders and gave a relieved nod.

"Yeah."

"And you tore up the garage door and bought us a new one. That's why I don't have the key."

"That's why you don't have the key," Derek agreed, and he sounded as if he'd been more scared that Stiles.

"I almost had a panic attack over nothing," Stiles said to himself, trying to laugh it off.

"Yes, I know."

"Okay," Stiles nodded to himself. He looked at Derek and took a bracing breath, let it go, and then tried to have a normal conversation with Derek. "So what brings you here?"

"You were having a panic attack," Derek said, as if Stiles was an idiot.

"Well, not for so long you could have driven all the way over here. Were you stopping by anyway?"

Derek averted his eyes and took a step back.

"Yes."

"Okay."

Stiles smiled and waited.

Derek looked at Stiles again.

"So?" Stiles prompted.

"It can wait, you're on your way out."

"No, I was going to go for a drive but...no car." He was embarrassed to admit that and tried to shrug it off.

"Oh. You could...I could drive you somewhere."

"It's not that I had anywhere to go, I just..."

"I can drive around if you want?"

"It's not a passenger thing." Stiles winced.

They stood in the empty driveway both looking at their feet, until Derek cleared his throat and made his excuses to go. Stiles waved and went back into the house.

He looked at his keys. How had he been so scared by his keys?

He wasn't losing time. He hadn't imagined a key. The garage door was just a garage door, not anything sinister. He could read, it was just badly written.

It was okay.

He looked down at his hands, counted his fingers, nodded.

Counting worked, he could count. He had Math homework. He could do the Math homework.

He smiled to himself.

It was all okay.

* * *

Confusion.

Was he really back to having to list these same symptoms?

The Sheriff sighed and jotted it down on a fresh blank page at the back of his notebook.

Derek Hale had called and told him he'd found Stiles about to have a serious panic attack in the driveway because he had no idea where his jeep was, why the garage door had changed and something about missing keys. Hale made the missing keys sound like something really big. He'd have to talk to Stiles about that when he got home.

He had a few hours before he could leave and, though he hated to do it, he called Melissa and asked her if she could take Stiles to her house so he wasn't alone.

By the time Melissa got there, Scott in tow, Stiles had torn the house apart looking for extra Adderall and then gone to town on every energy drink he could find instead.

They had been effective for focus but his hands were shaking uncontrollably as he tried to type out an essay on his laptop.

"I have to finish this while it makes sense," Stiles had babbled, "I have to do it now. I get it now. I only just got it!"

Scott pulled his chair away from the desk, saved the file and closed the laptop. Melissa held his face with both hands and waited for his eyes to focus on hers.

"Stiles, you're coming home with us until your dad gets off work, okay?"

"I just need my Adderall. It didn't work and I need another one, just to do this."

"You need to calm down," Melissa tried to coax him out of the chair, but he shook his head. "Have you eaten?"

"D'you know whid dad... Did dad did..." Stiles was growing frustrated and his hands trembled even more.

Scott took one of them and tried glowing his eyes at Stiles. If an Alpha howl worked for him maybe the other Alpha stuff did too.

"Stiles, calm down." He ordered.

"Had did my Adderall. Had did... Dad... Dad _hid_ it. He hid it!"

"He did," Melissa said, slowly nodding, "and you don't need more."

Stiles had rubbed his hands roughly over his face and Scott had mentioned turkey sandwiches. He told Stiles that turkey sandwiches were awesome and he could eat as many as he wanted.

It was a stroke of genius, the Sheriff thought, turkey always made Stiles sleepy. He'd get food into his body and maybe calm down a little.

When he showed up at the McCall's to pick Stiles up, he was doing a lot better. The shakes were gone but he hadn't crashed yet.

"Turkey worked huh?" The Sheriff tried to make light of the situation.

"It sure did," Scott beamed.

"Actually it's not turkey, not on its own, the turkey makes you tired thing is a myth. If anything cheese is more likely to make you sleepy," Stiles was allowed to babble as Melissa gathered his things and handed them to the Sheriff. "The tryptophan only works like that in combination with carbs. The carbs block everything except the effects of..."

He was muffled by his hoodie being pulled over his head, but kept talking anyway.

"So it's the bread! It's the fact that it's a turkey sandwich and not just that it's turkey."

"Bread is important," the Sheriff said with a nod, patting Stiles on the shoulder and then trying to guide him out the door towards the cruiser. "Thank you Melissa, really."

"No problem," she said with a smile.

Scott came to the door to watch them go, brow creased with concern.

"Thank you too, Scott."

"Do you want me to come with you? I could sleep over tonight."

"It's fine, Scott, it's all gonna be okay."

"Okay," Scott sounded unconvinced but raised his hand to wave them off, "bye Stiles."

Stiles took his stuff back from the Sheriff and gave a 'hands full' wave back.

"See ya, Scott. Thanks Mrs McCall."

The house was a mess. Stiles had gone through everything like a typhoon.

"Was this before or after the energy drinks?" He asked his son, who looked visibly embarrassed at the state he'd left things.

"Before, I think."

The Sheriff put an arm around him and guided him to the kitchen table.

"Sit down, son."

"Dad, I'm sorry okay, I didn't mean..."

"Stiles, this is either a side effect of the carbon monoxide or something else we have to worry about. We can't ignore it."

"Look, having an accident in the garage or not having an accident in the garage, it makes no difference. I still have ADHD. All my ADHD crap isn't because of the accident, or because of... Everything isn't always going to be the dementia, dad."

"But, and I hate it as much as you do, we always have to be looking out for that stuff."

"You really want to pay for another MRI just because the after effects of carbon monoxide poisoning are really similar to the symptoms of Frontotemporal Dementia?"

"I'll pay for a dozen MRI scans as long as they give you the all clear. This is never going to be about money."

"Look, you guys all made me promise to tell you when things were bad, when my headache came back and if I was freaked out about something. You made me swear and you said you wouldn't make me feel like a burden or a nut-job."

"We're n-"

"I called Lydia! I called Lydia today. I told Derek everything, dad _everything_ that flipped me out this afternoon. Do you know how humiliating that was? I went to Scott's house like you all wanted. I'm doing everything the way you want me to do it."

The Sheriff grabbed Stiles and pulled him into a desperate hug.

"We all appreciate that so much. I know it's hard to understand from where you are but we all know how much you want to say nothing's wrong and you feel fine. We're so grateful you're... I know today sucked for you but you have no idea how relieved I am."

"What?" Stiles' voice was muffled against the Sheriff's shoulder.

"I can sleep tonight, Stiles. Scott will sleep tonight. Melissa won't worry. Lydia will relax. Hell, maybe Derek Hale will grimace slightly less than usual."

Stiles laughed and they broke the hug.

"You don't want to worry us, we all get that, but you need to talk, maybe we could find some kind of therapy fo-"

"No." Stile's face paled.

"There could be somebody you could talk to who knows about the supernatural so you can really talk."

"Dad, no."

"Not Eichen House, not Morrell, I could ask Deaton if he knows anyone."

"Deaton knew Morrell!"

"His sister isn't his fault, Stiles. While she was telling you she was going to kill you he was in Japan gathering moss for crying out loud. He'll help you."

"I don't trust him."

"Scott trusts him."

"Dad, _I don't_."

That was all it took. The Sheriff nodded. No Deaton. Stiles needed to feel safe and keeping Deaton out of things achieved that. Definitely no Deaton.

"I promise not to involve him."

Stiles dropped into a chair at the table and rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans.

"I know you're scared, about the Adderall," Stiles began, not meeting the Sheriff's eyes, "but maybe if we talked to a doctor and they said I should have a bigger dose?"

"I spoke to the doctors at the hospital. They don't seem to think more Adderall is the way to go."

"But when it's not working, or when it wears off too soon..."

"It lasts a day. One pill every day." He tried to explain as kindly as he could. There was no way he wanted Stiles to feel judged or dismissed. "More pills won't make things better for you."

"Stronger pills then, one a day but stronger."

"Stiles..."

"It wasn't even the Adderall that day! I didn't fall over because of the Adderall, I fell over that damn bike. Get rid of the bike. The bike is the thing that almost killed me!"

"I'll make a deal with you, okay?"

Stiles nodded, eagerly.

"If I make an appointment for you to see a doctor and have a discussion about changing your meds, or the doses, everything you want to suggest to a professional..."

"Yeah, let's do that." The nodding was more vigorous now, and the eyes were widening.

"If you have that appointment to talk about your meds, you have to have one appointment with a therapist to talk about all the other stuff going on."

Stiles had a 'Well, I walked into that one' look on his face, but appeared to be seriously considering the proposal.

"What am I allowed to eat today?" The Sheriff said as he approached the refrigerator and opened it.

"I could, um, make you some..."

"I'll take care of myself, it's okay."

"No, but you work all day and you didn't eat. I'm supposed to make you something to eat."

"You're not supposed to, actually, but you do. You do it all the time and I'm giving you the night off."

Stiles narrowed his eyes.

"So you can eat junk food?"

"So I can..." he closed the fridge and scanned the kitchen cupboards, "...make mac and cheese!"

"Oh, fat and carbs together at last! No."

Stiles pulled some things down from the shelves.

"You want pasta, you can have pasta in a tomato sauce."

"A creamy tomato sauce?"

"A marinara sauce," Stiles said as he opened the can of tomatoes, "but you can have a little cheese sprinkled on top if you're good and don't get in my way."

The Sheriff tried to hide his pride from his son, but couldn't help planting a kiss into his hair. He regretted it soon after, sputtering and wiping his mouth.

"Ugh kid, you use too much of that crap in your hair!"

"Whose fault is that? Maybe the person who asked me to let it grow."

"I had to buy new towels every time you shaved it! Those little hairs don't come out y'know?"

Stiles smiled to himself and reached for a pan.

"You sure you don't want me to help?"

"Go sit down, dad, watch some TV." Stiles waited for him to go, then rolled his eyes and held out his hand. "See, steady as a rock. It's okay, I'll call you when it's ready."


	4. Chapter 4

He didn't manage to negotiate a change in his meds.

He did the one session with the therapist he promised to.

He wasn't going back. He was fine now.

His head didn't even hurt anymore.

He saw how pleased his dad was that dinner was already underway when he got home. He tried to credit the therapy for it. Stiles pointed out he cooked dinner plenty of times before without it being an accomplishment. His dad let it go and only complained a little about how healthy his meal was.

He'd programmed his phone to alert him with the same sound it made for incoming texts, with a reminder to start dinner.

He only walked around the parking lot with his arms full of groceries, looking for his Jeep, once. Just one time. It was part of his routine. It was habit. One time, that was totally reasonable.

Him calling a cab and taking it home before an irate Derek phoned him and asked him where the hell he was was harder to brush off. Apparently Derek had driven him to the store and was waiting for him in the car to take him back home.

Every time anybody made plans with him he noted it on his phone, set an alert, and on the rare occasion he forgot about the plans he had a reminder so they never knew.

This wasn't covering it up. This wasn't keeping problems from them. He was simply managing a problem as it slowly faded away. Managing an issue without taking extra Adderal or overdoing it on energy drinks. There was nothing wrong with this.

This was responsible.

Hell, he was more organised now that he'd ever been before the accident.

"Is it true Stilinski tried to off himself last month?"

He heard the question just before he rounded the corner to get to his next class and froze.

He didn't recognise the voice.

"Why you askin' me?"

That was...he knew who that was...

"You know him."

"I know you too. I don't know your business."

"But you were both friends with that girl. That dead girl."

Danielle?

"What are you, a vulture? You get off on death, you sick freak?"

Stiles puffed out his chest and walked around the corner to stand at her side. The guy was already backing off from the waves of rage Danielle was radiating.

"I'm sorry, did you have a question for me?" Stiles took a step toward him.

The kid waved his hands before him and turned to scuttle off down the hall, like the cockroach he was.

"Human turd," Danielle spat out in disgust.

"It's Stiles, actually."

"Not y..." she stopped and smirked at him. "You alright?"

He shrugged and then nodded. Danielle nodded in the direction the roach had fled.

"Between the two of us we could get him suspended, wanna go for it?"

"Nah, I get enough overprotection already." Stiles sighed. "Oh, but if you want to make a complaint I'll back you up."

"I fight my own battles, I'll take him down in my own time."

Stiles nodded, not doubting this to be true for one second. They took a backwards step away from each other, gesturing toward their respective destinations.

"So I have class," Stiles said.

"And I've got my session with the guidence councellor."

Stiles stopped backing away down the hall.

"You uh, you still go?"

"Yeah."

"Who is it? I mean since Ms Morrell left."

"Ms Ramsey."

Stiles shook his head. She wasn't one of his present teachers.

"Is she any good?"

Danielle tilted her head, considering him for a moment, before answering.

"She's good for me. I can ask her to..."

"I'll do it. I'll go. I'm late already. Thanks, Heather."

"Danielle."

"What?" Stiles blinked.

"See you around, Stiles." She gave him a weird look and then turned the corner, out of sight.

He suspected that Lydia had done something, or the teacher had made a call, whatever it was he knew something was going on for his benefit.

Every Physics class he'd had since he returned to school had been one where everybody needed to pair up to work together. Every time Lydia would have her desk drawn up to his before the instruction to find a partner was given.

Stiles had mentioned how cool Physics class was because they were allowed to listen to music with ear buds while they worked on their written work and even during tests.

Scott had said they hadn't done that when he took the class with that teacher. Kira said how much she'd hated the class when she had it, and was about to comment how jealous she was and how cool it sounded now when her eyes suddenly widened and her mouth clamped shut.

Stiles took out his phone and typed himself an alert for when he got home.

 _Research teaching techniques for kids with fucked up brains._

He'd been right.

 _Students may use an FM unit or earplugs to reduce external noise._

 _Seating the student near the teacher or by an appropriate peer._

 _Students may need simplified instructions, written or picture checklists of task steps._

Stiles pulled his Physics homework sheet out of his backpack. There it was. He had five clear objectives, all with a check box beside them. There was even a suggested time for each one.

He didn't know if he felt sick or angry about this. He stared at the sheet for some considerable time before there was a knock on his front door. He rubbed his head, put the sheet away, reduced the window on his laptop screen and hurried down the stairs to answer the door.

Derek was standing there, looking as if he'd been trying to see through the door using nothing but the the power of his scowl.

"Hey Derek." Stiles shifted from one foot to the other, hoping he hadn't forgotten plans to do something or be somewhere. "What're you doing 'round these parts?"

"What's wrong?" Derek sounded as if he wanted nothing more that to be pointed in the direction of something and then ordered to destroy it.

"Um, nothing."

Derek's frown deepened and he looked over Stiles' shoulder, into the house.

"What are you doing?" He ground out the question with unnerving intensity.

Stiles didn't know what he'd done wrong. Had he spaced out? Was he supposed to be somewhere. Had Derek been waiting for him in a parking lot again?

"I'm doing my homework. Seriously, what is it, dude?"

"Don't call me..." Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and out. "Homework. You sat down to do your homework."

"Yeah, why?"

"Is it hard?"

" _What?_ " Stiles flailed a hand at Derek and shook his head. "This isn't cool, man. My brain's all foggy and I fuck up sometimes and you're confusing me. Are you confusing me for a reason? I don't need more mind fuckery."

Derek's scowl receeded a little and his eyes widened. His demeanour changed and he didn't seem to be as big as before.

"Sorry, I was stopping by and I just focused my senses to see if you were home and it felt as if you were...upset about something."

Stiles face dropped and he averted his eyes. Now they both knew where this was going neither seemed to want to make eye contact any more. It was easier to glare right into each other's souls when they were furious with each other for no reason.

"It's nothing, it was just a homework thing." Stiles mumbled into his chest.

"What class?"

"Physics."

Derek met Stiles eyes and cocked his head.

"But that's supposed to be... I mean... You don't like physics?"

Now Stiles looked right into Derek, jaw clenching.

"You know."

"What?" Derek was trying not to blink, Stiles could tell.

"You're in on it too." Stiles gripped the door and teetered between flinging it wide open and slamming it on Derek's implacable face.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't keep stuff to yourself, Stiles. Don't lie, Stiles. Don't say you're fine when stuff is on your mind, Stiles. Share everything so we're not in the dark, Stiles. _Fucking hypocrites!_ "

The slamming of the door won out.

Stiles stomped up the stairs to his room while Derek banged his fist against the door and shouted after him to come back and 'just listen for a minute'.

He paced in his room, rubbing his hands against his head until his hair stuck out at all angles. Derek stopped banging on the door. Stiles looked at his bedroom window and stumbled over to it to close and lock it. He grabbed an hourglass Argent had given him before he left with Isaac and threw it against the window frame. The glass broke, the mountain ash formed the perfect seal, and Stiles yanked the curtains closed.

His phone started to ring. Derek. He swiped to ignore the call. The pacing began again.

"So you're making special allowances for me behind my back and telling me I'm doing better to my face?" Stiles shouted to the room as the pacing picked up speed, knowing Derek was out there listening, invading his privacy like he'd probably been doing the whole time. "You just _happen_ to be passing or stopping by or outside my house every fucking second because I'm doing _so well!_ "

The phone rang again. His dad. He swiped the call away and bellowed at the window.

"Don't you dare! Don't you dare send my dad in to calm me down you fuckers!"

Stiles thundered into the bathroom and tore apart the medicine cabinet.

"I let you spoon feed me my meds, I go to your stupid therapy, I don't even drink Coca-fucking-cola because 'Oh caffeine, Stiles, _caffeine_ '!"

Stiles ran back to his bedroom when the sound of his ringtone chimed out again. Scott.

"Nope!"

Stiles rejected the call.

The phone rang again, immediately after. Lydia.

" _Leave me alone!_ " Stiles screamed, raking his fingers throuh his hair as he sank to the bedroom floor.

"I'm coming in, Stiles." Derek shouted through the front door. "Let me in or I break the door down, your choice."

Stiles bounded down the stairs, grabbed what looked like a glass ornamental egg and hurled it against the baseboard. Another line of mountain ash formed. He ran through the house at the same time Derek sprinted around it to get to the back door. He had this covered. Argent had gone out of his way to make sure the only human left alive was the most protected human to ever exist. He grabbed a small jar from the spice rack, a rack full of absolutely no spices, and smashed that against the back door.

Derek was thwarted.

Stiles was consumed with adrenaline.

He hurtled back up the stairs and stomped into his dad's room. Every drawer was pulled out and emptied onto the bed. The wardrobe was searched. The bedside table was flipped so he could see underneath it.

He found nothing.

"If Adderall is cheating then what the fuck is this?" He shouted at everything and nothing. "I can't take one extra pill to do my homework but you can have a whole class adapted so I can handle it. You're all a bunch of hypocrytes, you know that?"

He paced his dad's room until his rant was over, then let his momentom carry him back to his own bedroom.

Missed calls. So many missed calls.

"Go away," he sighed into his hands, shakily.

The pacing continued.

Then he heard a key in the front door. He threw himself at his bedroom door and slammed it closed. He leaned his body against it, flicked the lock, and closed his eyes. His breathing was ragged and heart was pounding.

It must be his dad. His dad was going to be so mad.

The stairs creaked, the footsteps were soft and slow, he was being approached like a cornered animal.

There was a light tap against his bedroom door and he gripped the door knob so it couldn't be turned.

"Stiles?"

He swallowed and his eyes opened in surprise.

Mrs McCall?

He suddenly felt weak at the knees. He was shaking all over and the adrenaline left him all at once, like a flop sweat.

"Sweetie, I didn't break the ash, and I'm the only one in the house. Can I come in and see you?"

"He called you?" Stiles whimpered.

"I got nearly as many calls as you," she replied. "Can I come in and sit with you?"

Stiles tried to grip the door knob just as tight as he'd held it before, but his hands weren't doing anything but twitching by this point.

"I'm not scared of you," she said, softly, "and you're not scared of me. I trust you and you trust me, remember? I know you. You know me. You can come to me for anything. I've come to you this time and whatever it is that's happned tonight, I'm here for you."

Stiles sagged against the door and his throat felt as if he had a clenched fist lodged in it.

"Stiles, honey, have you hurt yourself?"

He slid down the door and landed heavily on the floor, leaning against the door and exhaling shakily. He sniffed, wiped his eyes, and then croaked out an answer that he doubted even werewolf hearing would be able to pick up.

"No."

"Good boy."

She was talking to him so softly, and it sounded like she was crouching on the other side of the door, following the sound of his voice.

"Did you take anything?"

He pressed his lips together. She could see the state of the bathroom from where she was.

"No."

There was a long silence. Stiles felt really tired now that his energy had completely drained. Melissa tried once again to reach him.

"Please can I come in?"

Stiles nodded, silently. Then swallowed and shifted around to unlock the door, turn the knob, and let the door slowly creak open a little. He stayed, sitting on the floor, behind it. Melissa grunted to her feet and then peered around the door to see where he was.

"Shuffle over a little?" She smiled down at him.

Stiles moved away from the door, then drew his knees up to his chest and curled his arms around them, tightly. Melissa stepped inside and looked at him with 'I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed' eyes. She squatted in front of him and cupped his face with one hand.

"I'm not going to lie to you, not about anything, okay?"

He nodded and she kept her hand against his face, sitting down cross-legged, before rubbing the pad of her thumb against his cheek.

"I love you." She said, firmly, forcing him to meet her eyes. "I love you and that's not a lie."

Stiles crumpled and her hand slid around his face to the back of his neck and pulled him into her for a hug. He fell against her, heavily, and she just managed to brace herself enough not to topple flat onto her back with him. His arms were tight around her back, clutching handfulls of her nurses scrubs.

"Whatever you found out, whatever we did that hurt you so much, I don't want you to doubt yourself over this." She rubbed circles against his back. "Your brain has been such hard work for you for so long, I know, but you remember this. Remember that however scrambled you feel inside your head, you worked it out. You worked out whatever it was we've done to make you so angry. You're brain did that, with no drugs or stimulants."

"My physics class is a special needs class now, all because of me." Stiles managed to choke out.

"That's not true, now is it?"

"I can prove it, I found the evidence, three pieces of evidence." Stiles sniffed. "One's an incident, two's a coincidence, and three's a pattern."

"Tell me this," Melissa leaned back to look him in the eye before continuing, "why on earth would Lydia Martin be put in a special needs class?"

Stiles had nothing. Melissa stroked his hair, which must have looked quite a state, and pulled him back into the hug. His head was against her chest this time and she rocked them from side to side.

"I thought I could do it." Stiles finally spoke up. "I thought I was doing it, that I was getting better, but it wasn't me. They made changes to the class so I could do it. I'm not... I didn't get better."

"You got so much better, Stiles," Melissa said with a soft laugh, "I can't believe it sometimes. You are getting better all the time and I'm not lying to you. I promised you, no lies. This isn't a lie. You...are...getting...better."

Stiles dragged in the deepest breath he could without shuddering, then let it go.

"Even now, after this?" He looked around his room, keeping is head against her chest as he did. "Tonight's meltdown didn't feel better."

"Even now, sweetie, even now."


	5. Chapter 5

When the Sheriff got to his house he was met by Scott, Derek Hale, and Kira. The kids were snuggled together on the doorstep, Hale was standing with his arms folded, facing the open door like it was an enemy.

The Sheriff approached the house, Scott and Kira got up and parted to let him step inside. He stepped over the mountain ash across the threshold. Lydia Martin was sitting, rigidly on his couch, a pained smile on her face. He turned to look at the three supernatural figures outside.

"Why didn't you break it for them?" He asked Lydia.

"It wasn't my call." She replied, reasonably.

He crouched down and reached for the ash line, before pausing and looking at Scott and then Hale.

"You come inside and sit with Lydia, no storming in and upsetting Stiles. Are we clear?"

Scott nodded enthusiastically. Hale gave a single nod and grunt.

The Sheriff broke the line, stepped aside to let them in, and then looked up the stairs. It was quiet up there.

"I think he's fallen asleep," Scott said, taking a seat and pulling Kira down beside him.

The Sheriff nodded and then gestured to the kitchen.

"Help yourselves to anything, food, drink..."

Nobody moved.

He left them and made the short but daunting journey to his son's room.

He tried to ignore the state of the bathroom and stepped into his son's bedroom. He was curled up into the fetal position on his bed, Melissa stroking his hair as she sat beside him. She looked up at him and smiled.

What if this was impulsivity, or a hallucination? Whatever had happened he had irritability to add to the list, paranoia too.

"I think he wore himself out with all the pacing," Melissa said, brow creased.

Pacing. His shoulders fell.

"Don't go there again," Melissa warned. "This could easily be from the poisoning. Both have similar effects on the brain."

"But the poisoning gradually gets better and the dementia gradually gets worse." The Sheriff sounded as hopeless as he felt. "Just because last time was a supernatural hoax..."

"We'll arrange another MRI, okay? But it's not inevitable that he's going to get it at all. You know that. All the reading we both did last time..."

"Yeah, I remember reading the part about using words incorrectly. He did that, didn't he?"

"He's not asleep," Stiles voice sounded hoarse, as his eyes opened and he curled into himself even tighter.

The Sheriff hurried towards the bed and crouched down beside it.

"Hey kid, you really scared us all tonight. Can you tell me what happened?"

"Physics class," Melissa responded, "he worked out the changes for the class were for his benefit. He thinks it's special treatment because he's not good enough to understand it anymore."

He cleared his throat and put his hand on Stiles' knee.

"I spoke to your teacher about that, about your progress, and do you know what she said to me?"

"That I'm the best at show and tell and eye spy but my finger painting needs improvement?" Stiles raspy voice cut down his hopes of inspiring his son again.

"Tell him what she said," Melissa prompted.

"She said that the new teaching methods were working really well for you. She said there was no drop in your grades."

"My grades are Lydia's grades," Stiles grumbled.

"Not a drop of quality in your homework either, Lydia's not around for that is she?"

"My homework," Stiles snorted and his smile was so bitter it hurt, "my dumbed down homework assignments. Yeah, I'm thriving."

"She told me," the Sheriff let his voice become a little clearer, a little louder, "that she's sticking with this way of teaching even when you leave the class. You know why?"

Stiles blinked and looked at him with curiosity.

"Because a third of your classmates have improved their grades since she did it. Their performance in class has stepped up and their homework is up at least one grade. It's a better way of teaching so that's why she's sticking with it."

Stiles shook his head and pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"No, but I found it, I found the teaching methods for brain damaged kids thing on the Internet."

He gripped Stiles' arm and fixed his gaze with a blazing, determined focus.

"You are not brain damaged, Stiles."

"But I need another MRI, right?" Stiles was despondent.

The Sheriff rubbed his face, stubble scratching against the rough skin of his hand, and he caught sight of Stiles' laptop. The screensaver was a continuous expanding ripple, as if a pebble had been dropped into a pool of still water, while the color changed from autumnal orange to cool blue, to purple, then green. It was something they'd installed on Stiles' laptop just after he got out of hospital. The doctors had said something about the repetition and colors being beneficial. All he knew was that once he started staring at it he could sit there for a whole minute and lose his train of thought.

"Show me," the Sheriff said, looking from the laptop to his son, then back again. "Show me what you found."

Stiles shuffled forward on the bed and Melissa reached for the laptop on the desk to hand it to him. Stiles swiped the mouse pad and the screensaver disappeared to reveal the desktop and lightsabre wallpaper. He maximized the window for classroom interventions for students with traumatic brain injuries. He poked, accusingly, at two passages before scrolling down and highlighting another. He folded his arms across his chest as the Sheriff turned the laptop towards him a little more to read. There was a pout on Stiles' face that he was clearly trying to suppress, but his son's bottom lip was always one of his biggest tells.

"So the others might be doing better too," Stiles mumbled, "but that doesn't stop it being straight from the handbook for educating the brain dead."

The slap across the back of Stiles' head took both him and his father by surprise. Melissa pointed her finger into Stiles' face and scolded him without a word. Stiles head dropped and he stared at his hands, awkwardly.

The Sheriff read on a little from the part Stiles had highlighted and then highlighted a passage himself. He turned the screen back towards Stiles and tapped it.

"So how come your teachers can't follow this advice to help you and other students find the work easier but you can use technical aids to make life easier for yourself while you recover?"

Stiles looked warily at him, then leaned forward to read.

 _Assistive devices can include technical equipment and materials...timers, alarms, and beepers..._

Stiles swallowed and looked up at him.

"You know about the alerts on my phone?"

"I know there's nothing wrong with them, that there was no need to keep them from anyone, and I know they've really helped you." The Sheriff gestured to the laptop screen again. "I know it's right here as a good way to help you get back on the horse."

"This is well researched stuff, Stiles," Melissa said with a proud smile, "these are good techniques and professionals look this paper up to help them do their job, and you... You came up with this part on your own."

"Brain dead my ass!" The Sheriff huffed and shoved Stiles by the shoulder.

Stiles sat, shell shocked for a moment. The Sheriff couldn't stand it for too long and crushed him into a whole body hug. Melissa smiled, stroked the back of Stiles' head, and quietly left the room to collect her son. She would be in for quite a negotiation to get him to leave before speaking to Stiles, but if anyone had a chance it would be her.

"Why is it taking so long, dad?" Stiles said, muffled against him.

"I don't know, but we're going to go and make an appointment together, ask questions together, and we're going to work this out together. Okay?"

Stiles nodded, partially to wipe his eyes against his father's shirt.

"Why is it so hard?" His speech was much softer this time.

"There's a saying that nothing good comes easy, and you're better than good, you're amazing."

"I'm pretty sure you're the only one who thinks so," Stiles chuckled.

"Yeah, everyone else just thinks you're outstanding."

"Dad..."

"Exceptional."

"Shut up."

"Magnificent."

Stiles shoved himself away and laughed. His phone alert went off. They both looked at it as the screen illuminated with a message.

"Which one is that?" The Sheriff watched as Stiles picked up the phone and dismissed the alert.

"It's the make a start on dinner, ready for you to come home, alert." He said, stuffily, "I'd better get on that, so you never know I forgot."

"I won't tell. In fact I'll give you a hand with it."

He got up from the bed and hauled Stiles up with him. They slapped each other on the back and stepped towards the door when Derek Hale and Lydia Martin hurried by. Hale gave a tense nod to the Sheriff and Lydia smiled at Stiles nervously, and gave a tiny wave, before trotting into the Sheriff's bedroom.

"Um..?" The Sheriff began as they reached the door and saw Hale walking into the bathroom, which looked a real mess.

"You two talk," Hale said in a monotone, "we're going to clean up for you."

The Sheriff looked towards his bedroom and saw Lydia lifting up an empty dresser drawer from the floor and gathering an armful of tube socks from the top of the disheveled bed.

"Lydia, you don't have to..." The Sheriff started.

"I'll fix up your room after, Stiles, as long as you don't have anything in there you don't want me to see."

"Don't, let me," Stiles said, bowing his head, "let me clean up my own mess."

"And let me deal with my underwear, Lydia," the Sheriff said with a cringe, "no classy young woman deserves that."

Stiles snorted and Lydia smirked.

They walked down the stairs and found Melissa with her car keys in her hand, waiting at the open door. Scott was hanging back, clutching his crash helmet, and watching Stiles intently.

"So you've seen him, he's alright, now come home." Melissa sighed. "At least take poor Kira home."

Scott nodded, looked back at Stiles like a recently kicked puppy, and shuffled a little closer to him. Stiles closed the distance and hugged him, quickly.

"Sorry, dude."

"No, it's cool," Scott said, happier than reasonable for the circumstances.

When Melissa finally got her son to leave, father and son made their way to the kitchen.

"So what are we thinking?" The Sheriff opened the kitchen cupboards as he spoke.

"I'm thinking risotto."

The Sheriff arched an eyebrow.

"That's a lot of carbs."

"That's right, but I trashed the house so carbs, butter and cheese have immunity for the day."

The Sheriff's eyes lit up and he moved some boxes around to search for the risotto. Stiles nudged him aside, opened a different cupboard and lifted down a jar of rice.

"I was thinking," Stiles said, "of making it from scratch, seeing as it's a treat."

"Doesn't that take a long time?"

Stiles nodded.

"Lots of stirring, patience, and time to calm down."

"Okay so what can I do?"

Stiles nodded to the shelf in front of him.

"Boil up some water and crumble up a bouillon cube into it."

"We have bouillon cubes?"

"Right there, dad."

The movement upstairs ceased after a short while, Lydia and Hale descended the stairs and politely left without any fuss. Stiles was ladling the bouillon liquid into the pan with the rice, little by little, and the Sheriff had been told to grate some cheese and stay out of the way.

" _Hey, why don't you grate some cheese for Babci and stay out of momma's way?" He tried to guide his little boy away from the kitchen counter to give his wife some space._

" _But Babci says it has to be curd cheese," Stiles said, rubbing his nose and leaving a trail of flour across his cheek._

" _Misiu, we don't have curd cheese," Claudia said as she blew a strand of hair out of her face, "we're going to use the cheese we have."_

 _Claudia was always stressed when her mother, or any one connected with her mother, was coming to visit. He knew Stiles really needed his focus to be redirected before he got started._

" _Babci says it has to be sheep's milk cheese." Stiles piped up, as a block of solid yellow was put into his hand and the grater set on the table, away from Claudia._

" _Well, Babci doesn't understand how plurals work, that's why," Claudia said, catching his eye and hoping that Stiles' attention span was as short as ever._

 _Please pick up the bait, kid. Pick up the bait. He chanted inside his head while Stiles' frowned._

" _English is Babci's third language, did you know that dad?"_

 _He broke into a wide grin and Claudia visibly relaxed._

" _I do know that." He joined Stiles at the kitchen table and set a plate down to catch the grated cheese. "She's very cleaver to learn two whole other languages, isn't she?"_

 _Stiles nodded and started grating the cheese._

" _I think if I learned two more languages I'd make mistakes too."_

" _That's very understanding of you, Stiles."_

 _He watched his son pause to admire his little heap of grated cheese, before resuming._

" _Is it only English that had plurals, or do they have plurals in Polish too?"_

" _Yes Misiu," Claudia said, smiling back at him, "we have plurals too."_

" _I bet people learning English hate it," Stiles mused. "We have rules to learn and then we break them for no reason!"_

 _Stiles sounded incredulous, as if it was a mean joke being played on everybody taking an English class._

" _Do you know more plurals like sheep?" Claudia said, shredding yet another cabbage._

" _Um..." Stiles couldn't think on this and grate cheese at the same time, apparently, "...fish."_

" _No," he chipped in, "because fishes is a word, I know, I've used it in Scrabble."_

" _Fishes is the thing a person does to catch the fish," Stiles corrected, "not the more than one-ness of the fish."_

" _He's so smart and so...cute at the same time," Claudia shook her head and laughed, "how does he do that?"_

" _There are fishes in the sea. Fishes is the plural of fish." He argued._

" _Is not!" Stiles insisted._

" _Is so!"_

" _It goes one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish."_

" _Claudia, tell your son."_

 _Stiles got down from the table, cheese and grater totally abandoned halfway through the job._

" _I'll find the book!" His little boy threatened, almost vibrating with energy._

" _Stiles..."_

" _No, let him," Claudia said, eyes widening imploringly. "Go on, baby, find your book."_

 _Stiles was off like a rocket and up the stairs._

" _What did you send him off for?"_

" _He can never find anything in that room and there are a thousand distractions in his way. We won't see him until she gets here and then we can unleash him on her while I scream into a pillow."_

 _He moved behind her, curled his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder._

" _That's where he gets his deviousness from."_

" _His genius."_

" _That Machiavellian side of him his teachers keep complaining about. It's all you."_

" _Well, what do you contribute? A natural ability to fart and scratch himself in front of the TV?"_

" _At the same time!" he teased her and kissed her on the cheek. "We're moving on to adding a burp sometime next week."_

" _If he farts on my mother..."_

" _If you didn't want him to fart, you wouldn't be serving cabbage."_

 _They both snorted with laughter before Claudia elbowed him in the ribs and told him to get out of her way and grate the damn cheese._

Stiles was clicking his fingers at him.

"Huh?"

"Dad, the cheese!"

His fingers waggled and his other hand kept stirring the risotto.

"Oh, right, sorry."

He carried the plate over to the stove and Stiles sprinkled a handful into the pan and kept stirring as he lifted it off the heat.

"Plates," he ordered.

"You're very bossy," the Sheriff grumbled.

"You want to eat salad with no dressing instead?"

He set two plates down on the table and Stiles served the risotto. As he turned to put the pan into the sink the Sheriff grabbed some more cheese and sprinkled it over his serving.

"I saw that," Stiles said, his back still turned.

They sat down and ate dinner in silence. Their distractions were gone and they could only dwell on what had happened earlier on. He was going to have to make appointments and get tests and they were going to have to put him back in that damn MRI machine again. If Stiles didn't end up having a panic attack he would.

Tomorrow was going to be a crappy day, one way or another, so they should enjoy tonight. They should stay as distracted as possible. He thought about sharing his memory with his son, and then wondered if he'd be able to remember it at all.

"You can add pepper but no salt," Stiles said, disapprovingly.

"What?"

"That face, I'm assuming you think it needs something."

"No, it's delicious. Rice and a bouillon cube, you're like Jesus with the loaves and the fishes."

"Fish," Stiles corrected.

He froze and stared at his son. His amazing, mind reading son. Was this supernatural?

"What did you say?"

"Huh?" Stiles cleared his throat and then took another forkful of risotto. "Oh, the plural of fish is fish."

"What made you say that?"

"You, you said fishes."

"But..." He let it go. They both shoveled their food into their mouths in silence.

"It is fishes, though. It's the miracle of the loaves and fishes."

"It's fish."

"Nobody says loaves and fish, Google it."

"You can Google and find proof that man didn't land on the moon, that doesn't make it true."

"Google the Bible then, I bet it says fishes."

"Maybe the Bible for kids, Timmy's first Bible with color pictures, but if the Bible is the word of God and God is infallible, then God said fish and not fishes."

"The Pope's the infallible one, I think."

"So God's wrong but the Pope's right?"

"I didn't say that."

"The Pope is God's spokesman on earth. The Pope says fish."

"That's not fair, English isn't the Pope's first language."

"Babci spoke three languages and in all of them I bet it was fish."

"Seriously kid," the Sheriff threw down his fork and pointed a finger across the table at Stiles' face, "is telepathy a thing now? Can you do it? Are you doing something to me?"

" _What?_ "

"Your Babci, the plural of fish, grating the cheese...I mean come on!"

Stiles suddenly looked worried.

"Am I...am I blanking on something? Did I zone out again?"

The Sheriff's face fell.

"Oh God, no, sorry. No." He moved around the table to take the chair beside his son. "I had a daydream, a memory, and you just deja-vu'd all over it. It's me, not you."

Stiles looked as if he didn't believe him.

"I mean it," he swore to his son, "right now I immediately think everything is supernatural and you think everything is...head problems. We're both wrong, okay?"

Stiles gave a doubtful nod and pushed his food around on his plate with the fork.

"Except for the Bible fish thing, I'm right about that," Stiles mumbled.

"Ugh, you're so stubborn!"

"Only when you're so wrong."

"Everybody, everywhere, have always said loaves and fishes."

"Then everybody's wrong!" Stiles jumped up from the table and stormed over to the bookcase.

He searched for a moment before producing a Bible with a triumphant 'ah-ha!' and flipped through it. He was looking for quite some time. The Sheriff managed to finish his meal and wash his plate before his son leapt back upright, finger aloft.

"Taking the five loaves and the two _fish_ and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves. Ha! God says fish."

Stiles slammed the book closed, victorious.

The Sheriff frowned at it, then looked at his son.

"Why do we have a Bible? You're mom was Jewish and we're both atheists."

"It's Mrs McCall's, she's Catholic."

"I know she's Ca... Why do we have her Bible?"

"I took it home to read it," Stiles said with a shrug, "did you know the only thing in this whole book saying two guys being together sexually is wrong is in the same bit that says cutting your hair and shaving is wrong? And there was one for you too, you couldn't eat fat or blood, no rare steak for you. Funny how the gay is wrong bit is _so_ important but the rest is just stupid olden days crap that doesn't apply anymore."

"You remember that?"

Stiles put the book back on the shelf and nodded.

"When did you read that?"

"Years ago, why?"

"You... You remember it."

Stiles paused and thought about that for a moment.

"Yeah."

"Do you remember what you're reading in English class right now?"

Stiles' fingers twitched towards his phone in his pocket and he bit his lip.

"Rosencrantz..." he screwed up his face, "Rosencrantz and another guy from Hamlet are Dead."

He took out his phone and checked his notes.

"Guild-en-stern. Well, come on, that's two hard to remember names. That's why the main character was called Hamlet, it's catchy!"

The Sheriff narrowed his eyes and held his knuckles to his mouth.

"It's short term memories, new memories," he finally said.

"Is that good or bad?"

"It's something we can tell the doctors. Your mom lost everything, you're only struggling with recent stuff."

"And my dead friends' names," Stiles added, looking guilty. "I think I called a girl at school Heather today."

He gripped Stiles' shoulder and held his gaze.

"She didn't die that long ago, neither did Allison, we can talk to the doctors about all of this tomorrow, okay?"

Stiles nodded and sighed.

"Finish your dinner," the Sheriff said, lightly shoving Stiles back towards the kitchen table, "I'll make some calls."


	6. Chapter 6

"Where's my dad?"

The woman from Child Protective Services was giving him significant looks and asking significant questions and saying 'really' a lot. She said it with emphasis too. It was like she were saying it with air-quotes and italics.

 _'Really'_

Did he ' _really_ ' abuse his medication or was he handed too many pills every day?

Did he _'really'_ immobilize himself in a garage with the motor running by accident?

Was he _'really'_ having memory problems or could his dad, for example, be telling him something happened when it didn't and never happened when it did?

"He's just filling out some paperwork and answering some questions," she smiled at him. "Now, can you tell me what happened when your father told you you were dying of," she paused to refer to her notes, "Frontotemporal dementia?"

"My father didn't tell me I was dying. He never told me I had Frontotemporal dementia." Stiles was trying not to shout at her, but she was doing everything right to make him rant at her to shut the hell up about his dad.

"He took you to the hospital and told them you had it, though, didn't he?"

"He asked them to test me for it. After I went sleepwalking and nearly froze to death. After a medical professional told him she'd suspected something like that was wrong."

"Ah yes, the medical professional who is...a friend of your father. A nurse at this hospital."

Stiles eyes narrowed at her. If she was going to start saying Melissa was a bad person he was going to have to excuse himself and find somewhere private to scream every curse word he knew.

"So you had the MRI, and found out you had the dementia, and became so upset that you ran away for a few days. Were you running away from the diagnosis or from the people telling you about it?"

Stiles cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. He mustn't shout. Keep calm, for his dad, he had to keep calm.

"I didn't find out, the scan was still happening and nobody had told me anything. The power went out while I was stuck inside the machine. I ran because that was...amazingly scary."

"It must have been. So when did your father tell you you were dying?"

"Never," Stiles said, unable to stop himself from sitting forward and glaring at her, "he never told me I had it and he never told me I was dying. He said he'd been told I had it and that he was going to see a specialist to find out for sure."

"And he put you into Eichen House for a 48 hour hold, that's right?"

"I asked to be checked in while he was away, asking somebody for a second opinion. He got the second opinion, they told him the scan was wrong and nothing was wrong with me. He went to a lot of trouble to save me from a misdiagnosis. Is that in your notes?"

"Did he tell you that?" She smiled.

He threw himself back in his seat and dragged his hands over his hair.

"You ran away from Eichen House before the 48 hours were up. Why did you do that?"

"One of the orderlies abused me," Stiles said with a cold smile, she wrote a short notes down and he could've sworn she rolled her eyes, "a man named Brunski forcibly sedated me, which was against the law. The therapist, Ms Morrell, gave me a bottle of amphetamines and told me to stay awake because she'd kill me the second I fell asleep. She's gone now, no CPS chasing after her, and last I heard Brunski still works at Eichen."

"You were in Eichen House because you had mental health problems. You were suffering from hallucinations and delusions. Could this abuse have been part of that?"

"So what is this?" Stiles leapt up from his chair, voice raised, and couldn't stop himself. He was so beyond angry now. "When I say, out and out _state_ categorically, that I was abused I don't know what I'm talking about. Then when I say my dad, Meli... Nurse McCall, anybody close to me hasn't done anything wrong, I _still_ don't know what I'm talking about. If I said one negative thing about my dad you'd be on that like it was the most concrete eveidence ever."

"Is there one negative thing you could tell me about your father?"

"Yeah, he didn't investigate and arrest you for child abuse before I ever had to have this conversation with you!"

"Mr Stillinski..."

"And where's my appropriate adult? I'm supposed to have an adult with me for this."

"Your father isn't allowed to be with you for this conversation and Nurse McCall is an inappropriate choice."

There was a loud thumping on the door and the CPS woman jumped. Stiles was trying not to start pacing up and down, still struggling to hold his temper. As the woman rose from her seat to go to the door it burst open and Derek stood there, looking apoplectic with rage.

"I'm an adult, with no family or professional connection to Stiles Stilinski," Derek growled as he stepped closer to the CPS woman, "and this meeting shouldn't be going on without an appropriate adult."

"Uh," the CPS woman began to flick, backwards, through her papers, "um, Hale... I uh, think you can't be... You are ruled out because of your criminal..."

"Every charge brought against me was dropped, I have no criminal convictions, no criminal record, and I was abused as a child and also neglected by a system that preferred to find fault in my parents rather than a grown woman molesting an underage boy."

"Um..." the CPS woman was almost hiding behind Stiles as she continued to try to reject his offer.

"Derek, I think you may be a little too tense for this," the effortlessly calm voice of Deaton caught Stiles' attention as he put a hand on Derek's shoulder and held him back from advancing any further. "Alan Deaton, I've never been abused, but I'm a responsible adult. I've known Stiles for a while now, I'm a respectable citizen of Beacon Hills, and I have no criminal record."

Stiles rarely felt happy to see Deaton, but right now he wanted to hug him.

"Mr...Deaton?"

"Now if you don't mind waiting, I'll call my lawyer to also be in attendance, and then we can resume with your questioning. We don't want to deny Stiles any of his legal rights, do we?"

"Especially not in the absence of his father, or any legal guardian," another familiar voice he never looked forward to hearing.

"What the hell is going on?" Stiles exhaled, shakily.

Scott's dad?

Scott's asshole _dad_?

Who next, Gerard Fucking Argent?

"Now Stiles, you can choose any one of us to be with you for this, or ask us to find somebody else who fits the criteria." Agent McCall said, as his FBI badge swung from his neck.

Stiles didn't doubt the badge was being shown off very deliberately.

"Wait, who are you?" The CPS woman was nowhere near as smug as she had been when she had Stiles to herself.

"I'm somebody who has known Stiles since he was a little boy. I'm his best friend's father, an agent with the FBI, and the ex husband of the apparently inappropriate adult, Melissa McCall."

This guy was a dick to his dad, but he was a dick to most people who weren't him. He would also do the right thing as far as the law was concerned. He'd scare the crap out of this bitch.

"Him," Stiles said, "my friend's dad, I want my friend's dad to sit in with me."

Mr McCall smiled at the CPS woman, who looked as if she'd just realized she had misread a lottery ticket and hadn't in fact won the jackpot.

"Good," Agent McCall said, "let's sit down and Mr Hale and Mr Deaton will wait outside, _calmly_."

* * *

He'd been taken away for 'informal questioning' while Stiles was still having his MRI.

He'd tried to explain, to have them let him stay until he could tell Stiles not to worry, that he'd be right back, that the scan had gone well and it wasn't like the last time. Now Stiles would come out of the machine to strangers taking him to a side room and telling him nothing, not even explaining why he wasn't there for him.

When they'd tried to stop him using his phone, and forbidden Melissa from being with Stiles in his hospital room while he waited, he'd pulled as much rank as he could at the time and sent a text to Scott.

He really hoped Scott was able to get there and wait with Stiles.

There were questions about Stiles mental health, physical health, medical history, and multiple occurrences of being reported missing.

He knew how to give answers that got nobody into any trouble, implicated no one, and looked like full compliance and cooperation.

'Compliance and cooperation are basically the same thing,' he could hear Stiles in his head and smiled to himself, 'you know, like how people say general consensus when they just need to say consensus?'

"Sheriff Stilinski, do you have anything else to add?"

The man was poised with his pen in hand, waiting to see if there was anything more he needed to add to his paperwork.

"Did you know the expression general consensus is redundant?"

"I did, yes. Why do you ask?"

"I was just thinking about how we all talk the way we hear other people talk. We hear people we think are intellectually superior, and they can't be wrong, so we parrot their expressions. Stiles never did that, even when he was really young."

"He's a gifted child?"

"Oh no, _Lydia Martin_ was a gifted child, Stiles was just...he never took it for granted that other people knew better."

"He's sharp."

"Very, and even with horrible stress and things out of his control messing with the way his brain works, he's still more on the ball than most of us."

The man put away his paperwork, cleared his throat, and sat forward.

"There's a lot of evidence, testimony, and irrefutable fact on your side. This was one report from one anonymous source. One suspicion."

"I understand, you have to act on these things."

"I can just gather the information and hand it over. I'm not judging anyone or anything."

"I've had to do worse to better people because of procedure, you don't have to explain."

"I do," the man said, with a look of antipathy, "because your son is also being interviewed right now, and you won't be allowed to be there.

He cursed under his breath, but he knew it had to be happening, and how it had to happen.

"Child Protective Services can decide to restrict your access to him altogether."

"I know how they work, don't worry."

When they left the room the Sheriff made his way towards Stiles' room, regardless of the fact he'd probably not be allowed to go in and reassure his son that everything was going to be okay.

He turned the corner and froze at the sight of the crowd of people blocking the whole corridor.

Scott noticed him and jogged over, looking overwhelmed, and tried to explain.

"So they wouldn't let me see him, because of my age, and mom couldn't go in because they're being dicks about her as well as you."

Scott's eyes flared red as he said this. The Sheriff glanced around to make sure nobody could see.

"It's okay, I knew it was a long shot that they'd let you be there. But Scott, what are all these people doing here?"

He looked over Scott's shoulder to Derek Hale, Deaton the vet, both Kira's parents, Lydia Martin's mother, and...was that the high school coach?

"They were..." Scott's eyes flared red for longer and he shook it off, paused to exhale slowly, and then started again. "That woman from Child Protective Services was being... He's not well and she's trying to put words in his mouth and telling him stuff he knows is imagined and stuff that's not true might be. She was with him on his own and Mom wasn't allowed to stay with him."

"You said, I know. I'm not angry that your mother didn't go in with him. I know she's made it clear to them she's on my side and they're going to go after her too if they can."

"They won't," Scott said with a twisted smirk.

There was no supernatural flash in his eyes, just a proud and very human sense of smugness.

"What?"

"I called everyone and told them what was happening. I told them Stiles could, _should_ , have an adult with him and they weren't letting you or mom be there for him."

The Sheriff blinked and then gaped over to the group of adults of varying levels of respectability.

"Kira told her mom and dad, Lydia told her mom, I asked Dr Deaton to come," Scott's face was bright and hopeful as he spoke about the assembly, "I have no idea how Coach knew but he showed up."

"Who called Hale?"

"He showed up while I was dialing Deaton," Scott said, rolling his eyes. "I think he was listening and realized what she was doing to Stiles, his head I mean, trying to confuse him."

"So how come he's still in there on his own?" The Sheriff frowned.

"He isn't," Scott said, looking slightly stunned about what he was going to say, "he asked for my dad to be his appropriate adult!"

"Your dad? _Your_ dad?"

Scott nodded his head, excitedly.

"No offence but Stiles hates your dad."

"I know, but he's as tall as a tall guy standing on another tall guy's shoulders, he has his FBI badge and his gun, and he knows the law. He's been schooling her and shooting her down every time she does something unethical. It's awesome!"

"You've been listening?"

Scott shrugged and at least pretended to appear guilty about it.

"Where's your mom?" The Sheriff asked, unable to believe she'd just been refused a role supporting Stiles and simply left. "They didn't question her too, did they?"

"No, she's been getting testimony from the doctor who did Stiles' MRI, when the power went out and we lost him. One of your Deputies, Cordova, wrote out a statement about Stiles sleepwalking that time. She even got the specialist you saw on the phone and they emailed the MRI scans from Stiles and his mom and explained how happy you were when you found out he wasn't sick."

"Remind me to build a shrine to her and worship it every day," he said, rubbing his hands up and down his face.

"Sheriff!" The Coach had spotted them and was making his way over. "I was just saying to these guys, I know the Fed has some cashet and can play the intimidation game, but if you tag me in I can end this right now."

"It's not a hostage negotiation, Coach," said Scott.

"It's just like this intervention I had sprung on me a few years back," the Coach ignored Scott and continued with his appeal to go to bat for Stiles. "Lots of big words and psycho-babble, I can cut through all that mumbo jumbo and put that bi... big...bureaucratic... woman straight."

"Shhhhhh!" Hale hissed, holding up a hand and tilting his head to listen, intently.

Everyone gathered outside Stiles' room.

The door opened and the woman from CPS stepped out. She froze at the sight of the gathered 'responsible adults', and then side-stepped through the crowd and mumbled an 'excuse me' before hurrying away, head down. Raphael McCall followed, closing the door behind him, and looked around until he spotted the Sheriff.

"You can go in now," he said, as if he was just waiting for the bathroom or something, "there's no case, no follow-up, no problem."

Melissa's hand on his back and breath behind his ear startled him before he had the chance to react to McCall's proclamation.

"And no dementia," she whispered to him. "How about you go in and tell him the good news?"

"Really?" He turned and searched Melissa's face for any tells, in case she was just trying to keep them for worrying.

She nodded.

"Unofficially, you won't be told this for a while, but I can tell you it's definitely the after effects of the carbon monoxide. It's still a problem but it's gradually getting better...just like you said."

He crushed her with his hug. She squeaked and laughed, uncomfortably, patting him on the back in a way that was more 'let go now' than 'there, there'.

"Thank you, for so much, for everything you've done today especially. Thank you for everything ever."

She shook her head and slapped his arm.

"You sound just like him. Go on, go, tell him to stop worrying and let himself get better."

As the Sheriff made his way to Stiles' room he saw Scott beaming, clearly having been eavesdropping, and the cautiously optimistic faces of the other parents...and Coach. He put his hand on the door handle and saw Hale disappearing around the corner, no longer needed, and obviously having heard there was no need for concern just as clearly as Scott.

He was going to have to have a talk with Hale.

He opened the door.

But Stiles first.

Stiles would always be first.


	7. Chapter 7

"Ms Ramsey?"

Stiles leaned in, around the door, and waited for the new guidance counselor to either shoo him away or invite him in.

A round faced woman in her fifties looked at him over oval shaped glasses and smiled. She had short, feathered, auburn hair and was rounded in every part of her body. She looked like she'd give good hugs. He shouldn't be thinking about hugging strangers.

"You're Stiles aren't you?" She put down the pen she was holding and slid her papers away, giving him her full attention.

His face fell a little. She'd been expecting him. Of course she'd been expecting him, he was broken and she was the woman in the mental supply closet, she had the brain glue.

"Um..."

"I've heard wonderful things about you," she gestured to the chair across the desk as she went on, "you won the championship game for the Cyclones."

He was thrown by this. His mouth was hanging open like a grounded fish taking it's final gasp. He straightened his open shirt just so he had something to do with his hands.

"Nice T shirt," she said, now that his gesture had made his 'Viva La Evolution' graphic tee clearly visible.

"Thanks," he prodded himself in the chest, "see it's Darwin instead of Che Guevara."

"I see that," she nodded, then made a bolder gesture to the empty chair beside him. "I have time if you want to talk. If not we can make an appointment for later today, another day..."

"I'm not sure if," he waved away the chair as if sitting in it was a huge commitment, "I just heard that you were the new Morrell and I just..."

He didn't really know why he was there. He had nothing to say and no excuse to stay, even less excuse to leave. For some reason he really didn't want to sit. He knew that was a solid, non negotiable.

"My favorite shirt is my old Shakespeare's Sister one."

Stiles had no idea if he had no idea what she was talking about because of his brain or because nobody would have any idea what she was talking about because it was an obscure reference.

"Shakespeare's wife was called Anne Hathaway." He ended up blurting.

Ms Ramsey rose from her chair and pointed behind him to the open door.

"Let's go for a walk."

"Oh, okay." Stiles found himself being led down the halls, outside, and heading towards the lacrosse field.

Neither of them spoke. Stiles really didn't want to talk but he hated the silence. He was never able to understand the concept of a comfortable silence. He could ignore somebody talking _to_ him, he could stay quiet while somebody else babbled on, but if they weren't talking he started to feel anxious and have to fill in the blank.

Maybe that was the trick, make him so uncomfortable so he started talking, well he wasn't going to play that game.

He managed about twenty seconds.

"So what is the Shakespeare's sister thing?"

"Shakespeare's Sister was like...imagine Lana Del Rey and Florence Welch singing duets together."

"Oh, okay, it's music." Stiles pushed his hands into his pockets and looked down at his feet.

"It's like goth feminism, pop with a dark side, that kind of thing."

"Huh, maybe Lydia might like it."

"I don't think she'd appreciate the fashions."

"Well, she doesn't appreciate mine but she still..."

"She still..?"

"She still likes me." Stiles managed another twenty seconds of silence as they walked on. "Lydia doesn't really have guys as friends, but we've kinda become friends without noticing."

"I'm glad," Ms Ramsey said, "after what happened with poor Allison, I'm glad all of you pulled together and took care of each other. Losing a friend that way can take a group of friends apart."

Stiles bit his lip. He couldn't talk about that. He was never really sure what the official story had been. He'd been out of it and then there were lies to cover him, lies to cover the supernatural, lies to cover the lies. He got sick in the car, wasn't that it? He was really sick and they pulled over for him to get some air. Guys with knives tried to steal the car, or rob them or something, and he'd collapsed from being sick so he was unconscious when...

"Were you friends with Allison in the same way you were with Lydia?" Ms Ramsey broke the silence.

"No," he felt bad that he'd answered so quickly, and so negatively. "I mean, not in the way I am with Lydia. I used to have a crush on Lydia and she ignored me, then we tolerated each other, but it felt awkward because she knew I liked her and she didn't like me. After a while we suddenly... It caught us by surprise that we were friends, I think."

"You just evolved."

Stiles nodded.

"Allison was Scott's girlfriend and Lydia's best friend. I was third wheeling it twice over."

"But she was looking for you with the others when you thought you were sick, wasn't she?"

"Isn't that supposed to be private?" Stiles side-eyed her.

"It is, but when a minor goes missing for days after being admitted to hospital, we were all told to be on the look out and to keep you safe if we found you."

Yes, Stiles the flight risk. He forgot about that. He went missing from the lacrosse final, he went missing and almost froze to death, then he went missing from the hospital they took him to after he almost froze to death. Were there any more? Yes, the missing from the mental health institution extravaganza, he mustn't overlook that one.

"Sorry about that," he muttered, half to her and half in general.

"You don't always have to run, Stiles," Ms Ramsey said as she stopped walking and faced him, "you can go to a lot of people. There will always be people who can keep you safe, stabilize you if it's a mental health thing, stabilize you if it's anything else and you just need some support."

"Sometimes it wasn't even me...running. Sometimes I don't get a say on where I end up."

"That's scary stuff."

Stiles snorted and nodded.

"Do you know everything?" He squinted at her, trying to find a tell, to see if she was lying to him. "Do you know about what's happened recently?"

"I know you had an accident at home, that you are still outperforming almost everybody in most of your classes, and that you've improved in a lot of ways compared to your academic performance before the accident."

"Yeah, that, but I mean the stuff with them trying to take me away from my dad. When they said he was making it all up."

"I heard that Child Protective Services weren't entirely ethical with their treatment of your case and that you might be defensive or hesitant about any offer of support. I also heard that you asked about me."

"What did Danielle say?"

"She told me about being pestered for gossip, feeling as if the loss of her friend was dismissed, and having somebody to stand up for...who stood up beside her, and how you made sure each other were doing alright before leaving."

"She said I asked about you too?"

"She mentioned it."

"So why didn't you call me in?"

She tilted her head to one side, looking disappointed.

"I don't roam the halls with a butterfly net, looking for students to fix, Mr Stilinski. I'm here for them when they come looking for me."

Stiles couldn't help but smirk at the image she conjured up inside his head.

"Next time we go for a walk, _could we_ carry butterfly nets?"

"Next time?"

Stiles nodded.

"Just the same thing as this, only holding butterfly nets, just to hear what they come up with."

"Who are they?"

"The people like the guy bugging Danielle, the CPS woman, they all think I'm nuts but you should hear the crap _they_ come up with."

"Unfortunately I do, on a regular basis," Ms Ramsey said with a deep sigh. "Well, the net idea is fine with me, but you're bringing them in. This is your joke, you bring the props."

"So what are you bringing to the table?"

She paused to think for a moment.

"How about a jar of lollipops, like a pediatrician?"

Stiles eyes widened.

"I get a lollipop?"

"If you come again, yes."

He grinned.

* * *

"Sir, one of the Easter Island heads is waiting in your office," Cordova greeted him as he came back from grabbing some lunch.

He wiped the grease from his fingers and hoped none of his son's 'diet Mafia' were paying attention this afternoon. If he had been able to recruit people to the Sheriff's Department as fast as Stiles was able to recruit people onto his 'cholesterol squad' he'd be able to have a lot more time at home with his feet up, and a beer, and a bag of chips, with his son. No beer for Stiles, though. He shook his head at the thought. Drunk Stiles? It must have happened already, at least once, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to cope. He wasn't sure America would be able to cope with Stiles drunk.

As he entered his office he nodded to the 'Easter Island head', or the rigidly tense Derek Hale as others knew him.

"You didn't have to come right away, just when you had time and were passing by." The Sheriff sat down at his desk and motioned to the chair opposite him.

"What is it? Why did you say we needed to talk? Is Stiles alright?" Hale didn't move his feet an inch.

It was like he was rooted to the floor.

"Stiles is fine. He's at school, one of his friends is in a class with him all day and he has a free period which he assures me will be spent introducing himself to the new guidance councilor."

He _thought_ Hale relaxed on hearing this news. It was indecipherable really but something had softened a little in his posture. It was subtle, like the sharp corners of an ice cube straight from the freezer, gradually smoothing.

"What do you need from me?" Hale got directly to the point so the Sheriff did him the courtesy of doing the same.

"Look, as far as I know, you're a stranger. You're a grown man, you have a dark past and some shady relatives..."

"Only Peter," he corrected the Sheriff abruptly.

"True, but I like to count him at least twice when it comes to the threat level posed to my son's safety and sanity."

Hale moved an eyebrow at that, ever so slightly nodded, and then let his shoulders fall more comfortably.

"I can't argue with that," Hale said as he pulled out the chair and finally sat down. "Am I supposed to be a threat too?"

The Sheriff rubbed the back of his neck and leaned forward to look Hale in the eye.

"That's what I want to know."

Hale simply stared at him, waiting for him to proceed.

"You're first on the scene, you're angrily protective of him and then angry towards him when the threat's gone. You came to the hospital to offer to be his appropriate adult. You're the one who calls when he's had a panic attack, or is about to have one, or you've talked him out of one."

"I don't talk him out of them, he just gets distracted by the need to aggravate me. He distracts himself."

"Are you always watching him or listening in because you think he's a threat?"

"No."

The answer was firm and without hesitation.

"Is there a threat to him that's being kept from me?"

"If there is it's being kept from me too, sir."

The two men looked at each other, trying to understand the situation, and the Sheriff shook his head and went for it.

"Are you my son's friend?"

Hale looked uncomfortable for a moment. There was the briefest loss of his stony expression as soon as the question was asked.

"I'm not his enemy, or yours."

"Are you his _friend?_ " The Sheriff perceived.

"I wouldn't say that."

"So what _would_ you say," the Sheriff heard himself slip into his cop voice, but Hale was doing his very best to sound like a suspect so nobody could blame him.

"He's an acquaintance."

"So an _acquaintance_ tore off my garage door to get to him, stood outside a hospital listening to Lydia Martin reading him comic books and discussing feminism with him until he fell asleep, and put my bathroom back together after he flipped out on you?"

"And whose car is parked around the corner from your house every night when I'm on patrol," Cordova added from the open door to the office.

Hale gave the Deputy a death glare. The Sheriff worry lines deepened as he waved Cordova away.

"Close the door and get some paperwork done."

Cordova closed the door and Hale only managed to meet his eyes fleetingly. He found the corner of the desk suddenly captivating.

"Please, Mr Hale, characterize your relationship with my son."

"It's nothing like that," he growled out in response.

"Scott is his best friend. Lydia Martin is his former unrequited love and right now...let's say female best friend. Melissa McCall is a mother figure. Deaton is an acquaintance, he's not relaxed around him but he deals with him because Scott trusts him. I'm his father. Cordova is a pain in the ass who has spoiled him since he was a toddler and covers for him when he shouldn't. Melissa treats him like a son. Scott treats him like a brother. Lydia treats him like an equal. Deaton treats him the way a military man treats a civilian. Characterize your relationship with my son."

"He's an irritant!" Hale snapped. "He's a piece of gravel in my shoe. He's a smart ass. He's a loud mouth. He's a danger to himself and others. He's human and breakable and won't heal like us. He's the one they go after every damn time. He's not afraid of me. When he was afraid of me he still got in my face and called me a dick. He does the right thing the wrong way. He does the wrong thing for the right reasons. He's had too much crap. He will fight to the death for you, for Scott, for Deaton and for me. He'll fight to the death for people he hates because it's what needs to be done. He fights everything. He fights everything with nothing, and every time he needs somebody to fight for him there's never ever anyone around!" Hale punctuated his last statement by banging his fist against the desk.

There needed to be a moment taken. The dust stirred up needed to settle. The tension needed to alleviate. They both had to process so much and all it gave them was more questions. Too many questions.

Maybe, the Sheriff thought, they should just go for statements.

"He's seventeen."

Hale picked up on that immediately. He made sure his gaze didn't falter this time.

"If he were eighteen my relationship with your son would be exactly the same."

"You don't see him as a little brother."

"I don't. I had a little brother. I'm not in the market for replacements for the people I loved."

"You don't see him as a member of your pack?"

"He's part of Scott's pack, I'm not, I'm just an ally of the pack."

"You don't see him as an acquaintance."

Hale swallowed and conceded that his earlier statement was bullshit with a wordless shake of the head.

"You don't see him as a friend."

"No, I don't see anyone as a friend. I have allies."

"Do I spell it out or do your characterize your relationship with my son?"

Hale took in a deep breath and let it go, slowly.

"I don't have plans for your son, Sheriff."

"Does Stiles know what the hell kind of relationship you two have?"

"I don't know. He might think we're friends."

"But he's wrong?"

"I suppose not."

"Oh come on, Hale!"

"Look, Deaton thinks he's a sage to these kids. He thinks he's a mentor and an authority figure and a go to confident. Stiles doesn't trust him, we both know that. Stiles would characterize that relationship completely differently to Deaton. Is one lying? No."

"So Stiles thinks you're friends?"

"You're asking _me_ what Stiles thinks? You think anybody can predict that kid?"

"Do you trust him?"

"Yes."

"Do you protect him when you can?"

"Yes."

"Do you have a problem with people who hurt him?"

"Yes."

"If you had to chose between Peter or Stil-"

"Stiles. Even when he was the pest getting in the way when I wanted to win Scott over. Even when he was possessed."

"So I never have to worry about going into my son's bedroom late at night and finding you in there with him?"

There it was. Hale dried up like a single drop of water in the desert.

"It's not like that," he croaked.

"You didn't have a lot of definitions for your relationship just now, something changed, Hale?"

"I've been in hiding, or I've been looking for him for research. I've been looking for him when he's missing. I've had to have conversations in his room because supernatural chit-chat in the living room, where you could hear everything, wasn't appropriate."

Did Derek Hale just say chit-chat?

"You're looking out for him, taking care of him, protecting him and monitoring his health. He's something to you."

"He humanizes me. Scott's a better alpha because Stiles is there and human. Lydia's a better person, less ashamed of who she is, because Stiles is there for her and human. Deaton is better at whatever the hell he really does because Stiles is there, human and calling bullshit every time he pulls that enigmatic crap."

"Stiles is human and that does what to benefit you?"

Derek Hale actually slumped over the desk, elbows propping him up as the tension sagged out of him, and he looked as if the answer was going to be a complete revelation to him.

"It anchors me."

Hale wasn't lying.

Hale had just understood what their relationship was.

Even when he was nowhere to be seen, that kid of his could turn your whole world upside down.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles was rubbing the pad of his thumb against his left temple as he made a show of scratching his forehead. He was trying to cover up the fact that he was starting to feel a headache brewing.

"Sweetie," Melissa carried in a glass of water and a pill as she called him, "take a study break and one of these. I think Scott's glazed over."

He looked at his best friend, who was looking at his English homework with something similar to a thousand yard stare.

Stiles closed Scott's book and threw himself back in the chair, rubbing his eyes.

"Right, we stop, medicate, and eat." He announced.

"Medicate?" Scott frowned, then noticed his mother handing the pill to Stiles. "Sorry dude, you okay?"

"Yeah, we just need a break."

His dad was working all night so he'd gone to Scott's to sleep over. They were already in sweats and t shirts. Melissa had been completely baffled by Stiles giving her Bible back and apologizing for keeping it so long. His dad had told him to give her a late fee but he'd kept that to himself.

Hell, he had a Jeep to get back on the road.

"Aw, my Jeep," Stiles whined at the thought of his baby being exploited by some grease monkey.

"You miss it?" Scott looked as sympathetic as a person could for a crocked automobile.

"It's just going to be so expensive, and I did it myself. I broke it so much. I hate me. Scotty, kick me in the nuts, quick!"

He didn't. He just laughed at him. Mockery wasn't punishment enough.

"I could give you a lesson on the bike tomorrow," Scott suggested.

"NO!"

They both cowered as Melissa appeared with a frying pan in her hand. It was jarring how they both flinched when the woman had been nothing but maternal to the both of them their whole lives.

"No motorcycle for Stiles. No Stiles on a motorcycle. No, no, no."

"But Mom, I'm responsible. I'll be careful with him and we'll have helmets and..."

"Honey, I love you and I trust you, but if you even sit him on that thing I'll break it apart with my bare hands."

"Wow," Stiles said, vaguely scared.

"You trust me on it," Scott protested.

"You, whose bones heal minutes after they shatter, yes. Stiles breaks bones and they heal the hard way. Stiles breaks everything the hard way, therefore we don't break Stiles, understand?"

Scott cowered under Melissa's glare. Stiles shifted in that awkward way people do when their friends are being chewed out by their parents.

"One day that brain in there will cure cancer," she jabbed her finger against Stiles' skull as she spoke, "or maybe even the head injuries motorcyclist's get when they crash. He'll be on one of those teams that saves us all from ourselves, him and Lydia." Melissa pointed right into Scott's face. "You break neither of them!"

They watched her leave the room and Scott looked at Stiles with wide eyes. Stiles shrugged.

"Dude, we both know I'm riding Lydia's coat tails all the way to her Nobel Prize. She's the one we form the human shield around when things get all 'last stand-y'."

Scott nodded and they shook on it.

"I thought it was that Math medal she was going to win?" Scott frowned after a while.

"She'll get that out of the way early on, the Nobel prize comes further down the line when she's running for president." Stiles tapped the side of his nose, like he had Lydia's life all planned out for her.

"And you're on the coat tails for that one?" Scott confirmed.

"Dude, Nobel has prize money!"

"She'd share it with you?"

"By then we'd be BFFs, married, divorced and she'll owe it to me in alimony, or I'll be her Vice President...which is like a BFF in a way."

"If you and Lydia are BFFs what would that make me?"

"Either my lover or my adopted son, which do you prefer?"

By the time the pizza arrived Stiles was proving to Scott that he knew every word of Bulletproof by La Roux.

"Headache gone, sweetie?" She handed him the pizza box with a smile.

Stiles twirled her and sung the final line over and over to her. She mussed his hair up with her hand to get away. Stiles stood, defiant, with his bed head looking hair.

"If I have to shave this all off again my dad will have words to say to you Mrs McCall!" Stiles warned.

"And we all know you keep it longer because of your dad and not the fact that Lydia touches it more now?"

"Does she?" Stiles blinked, acting nonchalant. "I hadn't noticed."

Scott practically inhaled a slice of pizza before Stiles had even broken the long mozzarella strand connecting his to the main pie.

"I normally only get pizza after dinner with Kira's parents," Scott said, his mouth full of half his second slice.

"I love how you thought, so that Wasabi stuff hurt like hell in my mouth, I bet it'll feel awesome inside my eyeball!"

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Scott protested. "I moved it so the mistake wouldn't be made."

"Then touched your eye. You're right, Scotty, you're a genius."

They focused on the slices in their hand before speaking again.

"Dude, I think I love Kira."

"You _think_?" Stiles threw one of his best 'get real' looks.

"You know? You knew before me?"

"I always know before you," Stile said, reaching for another slice.

The phone started to ring before Scott could follow up his incredulous look with the appropriate sputtering.

"Your phone's ringing," Stiles said through his mouthful, a bastard of a grin puling the corners of his mouth wide.

"Maybe it's Lydia to ask you out," Scott said, climbing over the back of the couch and pulling up the waistband of his sweatpants.

"No," Stiles said, confidently, "Lydia doesn't ask me out until we're out of High School. She's done with High School guys, pay attention."

"Hello, McCall residence?" Scott answered the phone, brightly.

"Who answers like that?" Stiles said, stuffing more pizza into his mouth.

"Yeah, we're fine. In fact we were just talking about me giving Stiles motorcycle lessons." Scott was aiming for a reaction there. It had to be his dad on the phone.

"Hey!" Melissa's bark of disapproval mirrored the one coming from the receiver.

"Gimme the phone before he has a heart attack," Stiles made grabby hands, not looking away from the TV."

Scott smirked at him. What was that? Scott wasn't a smirker. He'd once caught him standing in front of the mirror trying to arch one eyebrow for crying out loud.

"He's already been lectured by Melissa, I promise. I won't be able to straddle that thing when it's parked," Stiles began.

Scott had started to so a little victory dance as he dropped back into his seat.

"Good to know what you're planning on straddling," Derek's voice made Stiles spring to attention, "but I'm just calling to let you know I had the third degree from your father today."

"My what? The third degree? What? Huh?" Stiles swatted at Scott as he sniggered into his next slice of pizza.

"You're dad thinks I'm the Romeo to your Juliet, so...put a stop to it and don't you dare get on that or any motorcycle. Ever."

Stiles was about to respond but all he heard was a dial tone.

He sat with his mouth hanging open and his impending death from embarrassment hurtling towards him from above, like a meteor.

"It's an asteroid until it enters the earth's atmosphere, then it's a meteor," Stiles said to Scott, before shaking himself out of his shock. "Oh God, I think my dad accused Derek of sleeping with me."

And, of course, Scott started to choke.

Melissa was suddenly hovering near the doorway, Stiles spotted her in his peripheral vision. Something clicked and he shot up to his feet.

"He told you! You think it too! You both think I'm werewolf jail-bait!"

She spun around and held up her hands in surrender.

"We never thought that," she swore, " _but_...we did both think that maybe Derek wanted that, when you were old enough."

"Mom!" Scott looked outraged.

"Eat your pizza, sweetheart," Melissa waved her son's consternation away. "Stiles, you have a very... doe-eyed and naive quality about you."

"I'm not naive!" Stiles protested. "I can show you some porn that'll... No, I can show you no porn. What's porn?!

"Derek obviously cares a lot about you," Melissa said, as if he hadn't spoken, Stiles really wished everybody acted as if he hadn't just spoken "and we wanted to make sure it was appropriate."

"You know, Mom," Scott said, unable to pick up another slice of pizza thanks to the nauseous look on his face and what had caused it, "saying that one of my friends is a pedophile for one of my other friends is really crossing a line."

"Yeah," Stiles blurted, "plus, guys don't like me. Ask Danny!"

"Nobody's accusing Derek of being... We're just making sure everybody's taking care of Stiles."

He was suddenly incredibly pissed off about this.

"Um...why?" Stiles said, swiveling in his seat to stare at Melissa, "I'm well enough to ace my physics test but can't be trusted to say no to unwanted advances. _Which_ Derek has never made," he had to add the amendment on before Scott wolfed out and ran to Derek's loft and had a battle royale with him over Stiles' honor.

Melissa walked towards him, crouched at his feet, and cupped his face with one of her hands.

"Stiles, honey, your dad cares about you. I care about you, Scott and Lydia care about you. The way Derek cares about you is a little...intense. Your dad just wanted to be sure you were safe with him."

"Mom," Scott began but Stiles stopped him.

He leaned in to Melissa's ear and whispered.

"Mrs McCall, nobody cares more about consent and statutory rape more than Derek Hale. Not even my dad."

He leaned back to meet her eyes, fixing the gaze until she got it and nodded.

"He would never," Stiles stated, clearly.

Melissa grabbed him and hugged him so tightly, he felt as if he was clamped inside a vice.

"Stiles, no one who knows you wants to do anything but keep you safe, you know that, right?"

"You know every time your son is facing something really bad he's doing it with me at his side, right?"

"He's the Toto to my Dorothy!" Scott added.

Stiles closed his eyes and exhaled, slow enough to let that one go. His eyes opened again and he turned to smiled at Scott.

"You're so pretty," he said, patting the side of Scott's face.

* * *

"Stiles, you are not walking around school with a butterfly net," he groaned and tried very hard not to bang his head against the steering wheel of the cruiser.

" _Two_ ," his son corrected, unpacking their dinner from a large brown paper bag, "there's gonna be two butterfly nets."

"There will be no butterfly nets!"

If a baggie of celery sticks came out of that bag he was going to lock Stiles in a cell for the evening and eat nothing but double stuffed Oreos sandwiched between a doughnut and a waffle.

"But the rumor mill is grinding away when I was being a model student," Stiles put a hot cup of coffee into his hand, well he set it on his knuckles until he let go of his death grip on the steering wheel and took it from him.

"You were being a model student?" The Sheriff waited for the punchline.

"I am the beacon of Beacon Hills," Stiles teased, "all my classmates benefit from my special classes for my special brain. I crap rainbows and fart new car smell."

"We didn't lay it on that thick," he finally had to give in and crack a small smile.

"It was pretty thick, dad."

Stiles did that disgusting thing where he half drinks his soda and half eats his straw as he pulled out two cartons of fries.

"I get fries?"

"I got them before they were salted so you're allowed."

He grumbled internally, not wanting to have his fry privileges revoked, and took the flavorless food on offer.

"So if people are going to depict me as a drooling loon from the nuthouse, I may as well play with some stereotypes and confound some ignorant expectations. Right dad?"

"You're not buying giant butterfly nets from eBay," of all the arguments men had with their rebellious seventeen year old children, this had to be the only one of it's kind. "You could be downloading porn, you could be shoplifting, you could be smoking or sleeping with your girlfriend, but no... My son wants to challenge stereotypes by acting like a mental patient."

Stiles unwrapped a burger and took a defiant bite, making a show of relishing it's deliciousness right in his face.

"You'd better not be about to take a salad out of that bag for me." The Sheriff warned.

"So," Stiles forced his mouthful of food down before continuing, "in exchange for dropping the butterfly net thing, I get to download shoplifting porn and watch it while having sex with my girl or boyfriend and then have a post-coital cigarette. Good to know."

He plunged his hand into the bag and lifted out a carton.

"Do I dare open it?" The Sheriff asked, hesitantly.

"I got you a grilled chicken sandwich, stop pouting."

They ate, and between bites Stiles scolded the Sheriff for 'going there' with Derek Hale.

"I mean, as if I could get an older guy in the first place," Stiles gnawed on his straw while he waited for his father to tell him 'no, of course not, you're really hot, son' He spat the mangled straw back out, disgusted at the lack of response. "Good job my ego went into retirement the day I stepped into the boys locker room on my first day of High School."

"You could easily get an older guy, Stiles, that's the problem," the Sheriff said, trying not to shudder, "you look exactly like the kind of kid a certain kind of older guy goes for."

"I'm pretty sure grooming your underage boy toy doesn't involve slamming their head into a steering wheel."

He froze, cheeks bulging with chicken, and slowly turned to look at Stiles. Stiles' straw was now abstract art, but he was still attempting to drink through it. The Sheriff swallowed his mouthful and turned in his seat.

"Are you saying Derek Hale slammed your head against a steering wheel?"

Stiles blinked, looked across at his dad, then finally caught up...or backtracked, you could never tell with Stiles if he was now two subject changes ahead.

"Oh! No, it's cool, that was back when we hated him and accused him of murder...and dug up his sister's corpse. He just got a little stir crazy, being stuck in my room all day."

"Yeah, about that," the Sheriff began, remembering Hale saying something similar during their informal interrogation.

"And getting him to take off his shirt to entice Danny kinda wound him up pretty tightly."

"Okay, _what?_ "

"Did that sound bad? I didn't mean it like that. He had blood on his shirt and Danny was there too and he changed shirts and Danny...enjoyed it. No, he didn't, but he watched...not like that. Ugh, no wonder they both hated me that day."

"How do you do it? How do you make it worse?" He couldn't believe that his relief that there was nothing going on with Hale was so short-lived.

"Excuse me, Mr 'I almost got my son taken away by Child Protective Services', things sound bad when taken out of context and then listed one after the other!"

He'd had enough of this conversation. He lunged for the remains of Stiles' burger.

"That's it, I'm having a bite of pure cholesterol."

"No! Dad, stop. Move away from the burger."

The radio crackled into life.

" _We have a 927-D at 2269 Elm, anybody nearby?"_

Stiles' eyes widened and he threw the last of his burger into the Sheriff's hands, reaching for the radio.

"Stiles!" The Sheriff dropped everything to grab his son by the wrist and hold him back. "A suspicious report of a woman screaming is not something I'm attending with you in the car. It could be anything."

"But we're closest!"

"You don't know that."

" _Dispatch, I'm five minutes away."_

" _I'm on Alta Vista right now."_

"We're the closest, dad." Stiles did the big eyes thing.

He was powerless against the big eyes thing.

"You stay in the car," he ordered, grabbing the radio.

"Yes!" Stiles punched the air.

"You hear me? You stay in the car and wait. You stay, quiet. You stay!"

"Tell them we're two blocks away and go," Stiles flailed. "We have a screaming woman!"

As soon as they arrived at the scene, the Sheriff dragged Stiles out of the passenger seat and shoved him in the back. Stiles locked in a cop car was about as safe as he could be under the circumstances.

"What the hell, dad! I wasn't going to follow you. I promised."

"And now you'll definitely keep it."

He approached the house with caution and the door to one of the neighboring houses suddenly burst open.

"Hey, it was me that called you," a middle aged man with a paunch waved him over. "She's in here. We had her come hide in here when she ran out of the place."

"Is there anyone else involved?"

"There's a guy in there, an asshole, he came out and shouted and banged on the door, but he shut himself back inside when we told him we'd called the cops."

Another woman appeared behind him, craning her neck to look over the man's shoulder at the Sheriff, and then he saw a second woman with her. The middle aged lady, most likely the wife of the neighbor, had her arm around the shaken younger woman. She was barefoot and wearing a bathrobe.

"M'am, I'm the Sheriff, we have other officers on their way right now. Would you like to stay in your neighbors' house with them while we deal with this person?"

"He's not a boyfriend or nothing," the man informed him, "we've never seen him before. She said he just came back home with her and he went from nice guy to asshole as soon as the door closed."

"So the man inside doesn't live there?"

The trembling woman shook her head and leaned into her neighbor.

"Charlotte, this is Charlotte, she lives on her own. She's a good person, this has never happened before. You need to get this asshole out of her house."

The door slammed open and Charlotte screamed. The man closed his door behind him, shutting the ladies inside, and stood on his porch.

"That's him, Sheriff, that's the asshole!"

"Will you shut up!" The obviously drunk man yelled at him.

He was shirtless and his fly was open. The man turned his attention to the goading neighbor to the Sheriff and took three clumsy steps down from the porch, towards him.

"I ain't done nothing wrong. This guy's just a dick!"

And back there, in his car, he could take a pretty accurate guess what Stiles was saying about that.

"Is it true that this isn't your house?"

"I'm a guest! That's no crime. I'm the guest of the lady of the house. It's not my fault she went nuts."

The second car pulled up and Cordova was on the drunk in a second. He took him in his car, as this man in a confined space with Stiles was a recipe for disaster, and the Sheriff got Charlotte to sit in Stiles vacant seat in his cruiser, while he got statements from the neighbors.

"I apologize for the mess. Me and my son were having dinner."

"The coffee's decaff," Stiles said through the partition, "if it hasn't gone cold."

"Leave her alone, Stiles." The Sheriff warned and left them both in the car to wait until he was done.

It wasn't long before Cordova drove away with the asshole. The neighbors had given their dramatic statements, with a lot more personal information and neighborhood gossip than was necessary, and he was on his way back to the cruiser to talk to Charlotte.

Of course, he saw as he drew nearer, Stiles was talking to her. Opening the door and expecting her to beg for an off switch, he noticed that she'd stopped shaking and was smiling a little at his son.

"...and I know a girl with a _real_ scream on her and no way would anyone dare to tell her she was weak," Stiles said with conviction.

"I screamed and ran and hid," Charlotte said, sounding ashamed of herself. "What happened to all those self defense classes? I just ran away and hid behind the nearest man who wasn't threatening me."

"Um, scream and run and hide are my go to maneuvers when in imminent danger. There's nothing wrong with that. That's self preservation, Charlotte, that's even better than self defense because you don't have to have any contact with the creep."

"You scream, run and hide?"

"All the time," Stiles said with an emphatic nod. "Sometimes as soon as I wake up."

Charlotte laughed and sniffed, glancing at the Sheriff.

"Apparently this is a master criminal, you were on your way to the station with him when you got called to my house."

"This is my son, like I said, but the master criminal thing isn't far off the mark." Something about how proud Stiles appeared to be after he said that made the Sheriff despair a little.

His boy was getting better, and that meant he was heading straight back into dangerous situations pretty damn soon too.

"Come on, I'll walk you back inside and we'll take your statement. Do we need to get you to a hospital or photograph any injuries?"

"No," she shook her head, "it didn't get that far."

"As soon as Doctor Jekyll turned into Mr Hyde she started screaming. He didn't dare get too close after that." Stiles added.

"You took the statement for me?" He arched his eyebrows at his son.

"No," Stiles said, defensively, "I was just making conversation."

"He was," Charlotte said, wiping the drying tear stains from her cheeks, "and he's right about the Carb loading. It's not even recommended for professional athletes, let alone someone who does minimal exercise."

"Oh what? No! No, Stiles, no recruiting witnesses, or criminals, or anyone else to your diet squad. And I exercise!"

"I never see you," Stiles huffed.

"Well, maybe I'll wake you up before noon on a Saturday and we can go for a run together."

"Ha! You can _try_ to wake me before noon."

"Oh, you're in for it now, son. M'am, I'm sorry, would you come back into the house with me, please?"

Charlotte gave Stiles a smile and a wave as she climbed out of the car.

"Bye Stiles, thanks."

"Bye Charlotte, and tell him that suddenly starting exercise after years of inactivity can lead to a heart attack!"

The Sheriff slammed the door of the cruiser, leaving Stiles locked in the backseat, his best 'little bastard' grin on his face.

They really were going to be okay, weren't they?


	9. Chapter 9

"Headaches?"

"Only when I've been staring at the computer screen for a while, or reading a lot."

Stiles was sitting in his Doctor's office, having his latest check-up. He'd been pretty anxious about it after what had happened at the scan. He'd insisted his dad not be asked to leave him at any point.

"Do you feel tired more often than you used to?"

"Not any more, I mean, not recently."

"Dizzy spells?"

"None," Stiles shook his head and then glanced towards his dad. They shared a smile. This was going really well.

"Chest pains?"

"Nope."

"Have you lost consciousness at all since you were discharged from hospital?"

"No."

"Issues with your memory?"

"Not really, I mean, I don't think so. I don't notice."

"He still forgets some stuff, recent changes," his dad explained, "but the names thing hasn't happened since we saw you last time."

Stiles leg began to jiggle. His dad gave his arm a pat, and then squeezed lightly until the bouncing leg stopped. He'd never thought much about it before, but it was something they always did. It was something that always worked. Maybe it was a Pavlov's dog thing. Maybe if Pavlov's dog had a restless leg and Pavlov had patted the leg and given it a squeeze it would have stopped doing it. Or maybe it would have drooled. Maybe Pavlov drooled. Maybe Pavlov's dog learned to ring a bell and Pavlov had to run and get it's dinner. That would have been smart. Dogs are smart.

"Stiles?" His dad was trying to get his attention.

Stiles was smiling to himself about Pavlov's dog. He shook himself out of his internal monologue and looked at his Doctor, waiting for the next question.

"I'm going to take that as a yes," the Doctor said, noting something down on his papers.

"What? Yes what?"

"The Doctor was just asking you if you had any problems with attentiveness."

"Well...but, no... That's not new."

"I know, Stiles, I still have to take it into consideration, though." The doctor flipped back a page and nodded to himself. "You're still taking your Adderall?"

"Yeah."

"The correct dosage?"

"Dad has the pills," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

"He's back on track," his Dad said with a smile that kind of broke Stiles' heart.

"Do you still feel at times like you need to take another?"

Stiles licked his lips and tried not to look at his dad at all now. All they want is honesty. Lying to keep people from worrying always leads to a big fuck up and everybody finds shit out anyway. Lydia, Scott, Derek...they made him promise.

"I uh...yeah. Homework's still hard sometimes."

"Harder from your point of view, but I have some basic grades and test scores from your teachers here and you've improved to varying degrees in everything."

"Except Phys Ed," Stiles mumbled.

"Coach won't let him do anything, he's worried about his head." His dad explained.

"I can write you a note to present to your coach. You can get back on the...basketball team?"

"Lacrosse bench," Stiles said with his usual level of self deprecation. "But I'd like to be able to join in for practice again."

The Doctor noted something else down with a smile.

"I'll get that sorted out for you. Exercise is important."

"I offered to take him running with me," his dad said, shrugging as if _he_ was the health nut always on at Stiles to take better care of himself.

"You offered to wake me up at six on the weekend!" Stiles huffed.

"Yeah, for a _run_."

"Listen Doc," Stiles leaned over the desk to appeal to his Doctor without including his father in the conversation, "do you have any new scary literature about hardened arteries? Anything with pictures?"

"We have the same pamphlets you took last time." The Doctor smirked.

"The visceral fat one hasn't been updated with an even more disgusting picture?" Stiles slumped back in his chair, visibly disappointed.

"That's not the one with the yellow heart you stuck up on the fridge is it?"

Stiles grinned and nodded at his dad's revolted face.

"So," Stiles turned back to his doctor, brightly, "am I all better now?"

"You're much better," the doctor nodded, "but not all better, not just yet."

His dad put a hand on his back and looked pleased with this news. Stiles could have done with an 'all done now, back to normal again', but his dad just looked so relieved that he couldn't feel bad about it.

"We discussed this before, and I'm bringing it up again, and I'm sorry but it really is important." The preamble from the doctor made it feel like he'd just swallowed a stone cold weight and it had dropped to the pit of his stomach. "Stiles, I really do think you need to see a therapist for more than one session."

He was actually relieved that was all it was. He heaved out a sigh.

"I go for walks with my guidance councilor most days," he began, "we don't even carry butterfly nets!"

His dad closed his eyes and raised one hand, shaking his head.

"Don't ask."

"That's very good Stiles, but I still think going to therapy woul-"

"We talk about Carson McCullers," Stiles interrupted, "every time I find a new quote I like I memorize it and I tell her when we go for our walk."

"That's...good. But therapy w-"

"See, that's new memories. That's good, right? I'm reading something new, and memorizing it, and remembering it the next day."

"That's a great improvement and a really good mental exercise," the doctor was determined not to get distracted.

He was good, most people didn't stand a chance when Stiles was trying to divert their attention.

"Check this out," Stiles said, holding a finger up to demand silence, "People felt themselves watching him even before they knew that there was anything different about him. His eyes made a person think that he heard things that no one else had ever heard, that he knew things no one had ever guessed before. He did not seem quite human."

Stiles lowered his finger, sat back, and smiled to himself.

"That's..." his dad was barely whispering.

"It's Carson McCullers, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter." Stiles informed him. "It's one of Mom's books."

"Stiles, would you do something for me?" The doctor said, waiting until Stiles met his eye before continuing. "Will you, after you've told your guidance councilor your quote for the day, talk to her about therapy? Will you see what she has to say to you about that?"

Stiles felt his eye twitch. He really wanted to say yes, then not do it, but say he had, and lie about what she'd said.

"Stiles?" His dad leaned forward.

Damn it. Stupid promise not to lie about health crap.

"Okay," he said, with the same tone he'd imagine using had somebody asked him to clean the floor of the boys' locker room with his toothbrush.

He hadn't said much on the drive to school. His dad knew he was stewing and let him be, but Kira was in his history class. Kira was definitely one of those people Stiles would never be able to share a comfortable silence with, and he was pretty sure she'd say the feeling was mutual.

"So the Israeli/Palestinian conflict ends up being just as misunderstood as the troubles in Northern Ireland. Terrorism hiding behind religion, a disputed plot of land, two different types of people who are almost the same people too... Just the same people who refuse to live with each other, and the violence and tragedy and misplaced hatred for a whole nationality." Kira's eyes stopped widening and she paused for breath. "Only with the Israel and Palestine thing people throw in accusations of antisemitism if anybody even tries to sympathize with anybody in Gaza."

Stiles stared at her and blinked.

"I'm sorry but you're not saying anything and I'll just keep going unless somebody stops me."

"Kira," Stiles said, wearily.

"Yes?"

"Stop."

"Oh thank you!" She collapsed and flailed across her desk, hair pooling around her head and knocking her pencil to the floor.

Stiles stooped to pick it up and give it back to her.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "I know this is a joint thing and you're doing everything. I'll do the homework, all the work, and put both our names on it and we'll call it even. Okay?"

"I don't mind doing homework with you, Stiles." She smiled one of her sweet smiles. One of the ones where he couldn't tell if she was genuinely trying to make him like her or trying to kid him that she wasn't just feeling sorry for him.

"Kira I..." Stiles paused to think about this, then glanced around them to make sure this was just a moment for them. "I didn't get your name wrong because you weren't important enough to remember. You know that, right?"

She broke into a beaming smile before nodding, "Of course!"

Obviously she had been worried that it had something to do with them not being close.

"I think, uh, maybe the thing is that we don't have a long history. Even a history of being ignored is a history and we didn't even have that." Stiles babbled. "I have this thing where I don't feel like I can be quiet around the people who know me because they know me well enough to know that something's wrong."

"I'm sorry I made you talk, I'll shut up," Kira blurted.

"No," Stiles has to chuckle, "it's not that. It's like, me like this, kinda quiet and calm, it's not normal. It's good though. I need a moment sometimes. To Scott especially, me like this takes him back to my mom being sick or my dad being fired, that time he ignored my absolute terror about a rampaging alpha to take Alison for a walk in the woods for her birthday."

"I think he told me about that once," Kira said, sadly. "Peter Hale was doing crazy stuff before you knew him. He was away with Allison and your dad got hit by a car and you were mad at him."

"It wasn't my dad getting knocked on his ass by somebody in their panic, I didn't blame that on Scott, it was... back then when shit was going down and I really needed help, if I called him he was never there. He never picked up. Allison was doing something more important, like sighing."

Kira bit her lip.

"So we're not close because he does it to you again, because of me?"

"No, he doesn't do it anymore," Stiles shook his head, adamantly. "When I had my big sleepwalking extravaganza, I called and he was there. He was there, first call I made. I called back and he was still there. He could be a full time werewolf and have a beautiful girlfriend who sighs a lot and he still picked up the phone when I needed him."

Kira looked a little bashful.

"I remember you didn't know me well," Stiles went on, "and you stood up to your mom for me. You helped get me back, get it out, stop it. You saw what it did to Allison and you still came with us, all the way, all the way to the end."

"You're my friend, Stiles."

"And you're my different friend," Stiles said, nudging her with his shoulder, "you're my friend who can talk just as much as me. I've never had that before."

"So you don't wish I'd shut up?"

"You're telling me there's never a time you wish _I'd_ shut up?"

They both laughed and Kira's dad gave them a look. They turned back to their books and put their heads down.

"Hey, Kira, wanna hear a quote?" Stiles whispered.

"Yes, definitely."

"My advice to you is this. Do not attempt to stand alone. ...The most fatal thing a man can do is try to stand alone."

Stiles looked over to her and smiled. She took his hand and squeezed it.

They spent the rest of the class in a comfortable silence.

* * *

When the Sheriff finally got home from a long, dull shift, he was surprised to find Lydia Martin tiptoeing down the stairs.

"Lydia?"

She shushed him and continued downwards.

"It's 2am," he whispered to her.

She looked as pristine as ever. There was not a hair out of place or a single crease in her dress. She didn't look as if she'd been sleeping, or anything else that involved a bed.

"Derek called me," she said.

The Sheriff's stomach flipped.

"What happened? Is he alright?"

"He's fine, he did the fall asleep face down into his homework on the floor thing again. Derek looked in on him, and called me to come and put him to bed."

"Why?"

"He seemed to think if he crept into your sleeping son's bedroom in the early hours of the morning and carried him into bed, you would find that suspicious. Not to mention taking off his clothes."

"So he called _you_ to take off his clothes?"

"I am not stripping Stiles Stilinski for anyone, thank you. But I took off his sneakers and gave him a pillow and some blankets."

"So he's still on the floor?"

"Derek _won't_ lift him, I _can't_ lift him, so he's still on the floor, yes."

The Sheriff sighed and rubbed his face.

"Thanks, Lydia. Do you need a ride home?"

"I'm fine, I have my car. Goodnight Sheriff."

"Night Lydia, and thank you. Apologize to your mother for me...again."

He climbed the stairs, wearily, and stepped into Stiles' room. He was never a dignified sleeper, sprawled everywhere like Bambi trying to walk on the ice, and he could see that Lydia had tried to organize his homework. Well, at least pry it from under him and set it on his desk.

He crouched down and set his hand on Stiles' shoulder.

"Hey kid, you wanna sleep in your bed or are you comfortable down here?"

Incoherent mumbling was his answer.

"Okay, I'll leave you in your cocoon."

He went to bed and felt a little better about Derek Hale and his comprehension of what counted as inappropriate behavior.

"Dad..."

No, it couldn't be morning already.

"Hey dad..."

"Go back to bed, Stiles." He grumbled into his pillow.

"I would, only they're expecting me at school."

"Okay, go to school. Have a nice day. Don't forget your homework."

"I won't, I mean I didn't, but dad..."

Stiles had started jabbing his shoulder with an aggravating finger.

"What is it, Stiles?" He rolled over and huffed at his annoying offspring.

"You don't have to get up, just tell me where my meds are."

He slumped and groaned.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," he said as he threw back the covers and sat up.

"No dad, get some sleep, just tell me where to find them."

He gave Stiles a look.

"Come on, you still don't trust me?"

"I trust you, Stiles," the Sheriff said, bones cracking as he stretched and padded to the bathroom, "but tell me something. Do you trust yourself?"

Stiles' eyes shifted and he bit his lip.

"It's okay, you'll get there," he slapped Stiles' back, then reached for the medicine cabinet. "Oh, they're not here anymore are they?"

"I don't know, dad," Stiles said, folding his arms across his chest and looking down at his feet.

"Have you eaten?"

Stiles nodded.

"Would you make me some toast while I find your pills?"

"Yeah, sure." Stiles started down the stairs while the Sheriff walked back into his bedroom and opened his gun safe.

He got his son's doses of Adderall and anti depressants and paused to wonder if Claudia would have done so much better than him if everything had been the other way around.

Stiles was spreading honey on his toast as he entered the kitchen.

"It's better for you than jelly," Stiles said when he saw his questioning look.

"Here you go," he handed the pills to Stiles and the turned to grab him a glass of water.

Stiles dry swallowed them and grabbed his backpack, hooking it over his shoulders and then fiddling around behind him to make his hood more comfortable.

"I gotta go, Kira said she'd give me a ride today," Stiles started towards the door.

"Hey, wash them down and give me a hug."

Stiles took the glass and drained it with three large gulps. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve as the Sheriff set the empty glass back down. Then they did the back-slappy hug that was the hug equivalent of saying 'not right now', and Stiles made to move away again.

"Did you talk about therapy to your guidance councilor yet?" The Sheriff watched Stiles pause, his hand on the door handle, and look back over his shoulder.

"I'll do it today."

"Good," he said with a smile, "thanks for the toast."

"No problem," Stiles said, waving at him without looking, "see you tonight."

He left and closed the door. The Sheriff sighed and picked up the glass, carried it to the sink, and rinsed it out. He lifted his hand to open the fridge and grab some juice when the door opened again.

He was about to ask Stiles if he'd forgotten something when their eyes met. Stiles swallowed. The Sheriff discarded the glass once more and took long, quick strides towards his son. Stiles hurried to meet him halfway and they crushed each other in a proper hug.

The Sheriff held the back of Stiles' head, then let his hand drop and rub against the base of his neck. Stiles gripped handfuls of his father's sweatshirt and let out an unsteady sigh.

They stepped back from each other, squeezing each other on the bicep as the dragged their hands away and let them drop to their sides.

"Thanks, dad," Stiles said, croakily.

"Love you," said the Sheriff, "I'll pick you up after school and take you to the station. Everybody misses you. Let them make a fuss, okay?"

Stiles gave him a lopsided smile and walked backwards toward the door.

"See you then," he said as he waved, "love you too."

Stiles left again, door slamming with the usual force of Stiles exuberance, and the Sheriff smiled to himself.

Maybe Claudia wouldn't be so disappointed in him after all.


	10. Chapter 10

"...and it's just getting used to being normal again, I guess."

Stiles and Ms Ramsey were on their way back to her office, after their walk. They had managed to cover how in tune they had to be as they were both wearing red, in what ways How I Met Your Mother was a one season format that couldn't possibly be sustained as an ongoing storytelling device, and how Usain Bolt defies all aerodynamic logic.

"So a completely clean bill of health, you got very lucky, Stiles."

"Ah yeah, well not totally clean but no stains or anything." Stiles tried to laugh it off.

Ms Ramsey could obviously see there was something he wasn't saying.

"So, any new quotes today?"

"Oh! I was looking at some of her other stuff and there was this thing that made me think about Lydia. Something like how I felt romantically for her and how I feel she's there for me as a friend too. I mean, damn, the woman put me to bed last night," Stiles shook his head in disbelief as he said that last bit aloud.

"Um..." Ms Ramsey looked slightly startled by this revelation

"So, you wanna hear it? I thought maybe I could recite it to Lydia and maybe she'd like it. Then I thought that the romantic implications might freak her out. I don't want to make her feel uncomfortable around me like she used to."

"Stiles, what's wrong?" Ms Ramsey stopped him and turned him to face her.

"Nothing's wrong, it's just I'd rather have Lydia as a friend than make her think I have entitlement issues. Y'know that whole 'I like a woman so the woman owes me something' crap?"

"Stiles."

He chewed on an imaginary hangnail until Ms Ramsey slapped his hand away from his mouth.

"They want me to see a therapist," Stiles blurted. "I mean, I told them you were really good and about our walks and stuff. I told them about how I can memorize the quotes. I'm practically totally fixed now and it's not like it was a suicide attempt. I know nobody believes me bu-"

"I believe you. Lots of people believe you. Most people are convinced an accident like that could happen to you." Ms Ramsey smirked a little. "We've seen you play Lacrosse."

Stiles was temporarily offended, then laughed a little at the truth of it.

"Why are you so against therapy?"

"Been there, done that, got the anti depressants to prove it." He waved a dismissive hand.

"So now you have worked through your mother's death everything else that happens to you in life is preemptively dealt with? You're emotionally healed from how upsetting the side effects on your brain were for you?"

"Well, if you're gonna be _rational_ about it."

"Stiles, I know that Morrell broke a huge trust. I know that Eichen House probably made you think dealing with this on your own is better than leaving yourself open to abuse again."

"It's not that I think I can do it on my own. I mean, I talk to you now. That's kinda like therapy, right?"

"A part time guidance councilor isn't the same as a full time therapist. You can go to therapy and still come and see me."

"So you think I should do it too?"

"Too? Who exactly is saying you should do it?"

"My doctor wants me to. My dad... He just wants to do everything the doctor says. I scared him, sometimes I still do I think."

"So this accident, and the recovery period, has been tough for him too?"

Stiles nodded.

"I already gave him a flashback to my mom's illness, then I went and did it again."

"Has he been to any kind of therapy?"

Stiles hadn't thought about that. Maybe his dad needed help. Maybe all the health scares and the stress of a kid like Stiles in general needed talking over with somebody.

"I don't know. He's not now. Maybe after mom died."

He didn't think so, though. He had a hyperactive and grieving child to deal with. He was a new Sheriff in a supernatural town.

"He sounds like he'll take some comfort in you going to therapy," Ms Ramsey broke into his contemplation, "and maybe he'd benefit from some of his own. So why don't you do a deal with him?"

"What?"

"If you go he goes, if you quit he can quit."

Stiles thought about this idea all the way to the guidance office.

"Huh."

"Well," Ms Ramsey said, pretty impressed, "that was one hell of a pause."

Stiles huffed out a small laugh and then reached for his backpack to head over to his next class. Ms Ramsey had also reached for something. She set down a large bowl pull of brightly colored lollipops on her desk.

"I think a pause like that deserves a reward," she said with a smile.

"But I never did get the butterfly nets."

"I think that was probably for the best," she gestured to the bowl. "Take one before everyone else hears about them."

Stiles picked out a red one, to coordinate with the two of them, and then grabbed a purple one and held it up.

"My next class is with Lydia, can she have one too?"

"And so it begins," Ms Ramsey threw up her hands in amusement.

Stiles walked into his Physics class already sucking on his lollipop. He took his seat beside Lydia, resplendent in her blue and lavender dress, and presented her with her purple lollipop.

"M'lady," he said with a small bow.

"Thank you, Stiles," Lydia took the gift and twirled it between her finger and thumb. "oh, and I brought your book back."

Lydia reached into her bag and grabbed the Carson McCullers book he'd lent her.

"You were right, I did like it."

Stiles took his mother's book back and carefully slipped it back into his backpack.

"So, how was your walk?"

"Good, in the end," Stiles admitted, "I think I started off a little avoid-y and deflect-y but we got something sorted out in the end. That's why we got treats!"

"I'm honored to share in your good fortune," Lydia unwrapped her lollipop and licked it. "How did you know I liked grape best?"

"I didn't," Stiles shrugged, "it just matches your outfit. I'm all about the coordination today."

Stiles took his lollipop out of his mouth and waved it while sticking out his bright red tongue and gesturing to his t shirt.

"So I see."

"Oh and thank you and sorry, for last night, you shouldn't have. I'll tell Derek not to call you again so late."

"Don't you dare," Lydia said, firmly, "I quite enjoyed tucking you in for the night, actually."

The guy in the seat ahead of Stiles turned so fast his chair scraping made such a noise that he caught the whole class' attention.

"You slept with Stilinski?" He gasped.

"What is it with guys like you asking the women I know about things that never happened to me?" Stiles huffed. "Do you know Danielle? I'll set her onto you unless you face the front and shut up!"

He turned back with as much loud chair scraping as he'd caused the first time.

"And for your information, the time I spend with Stiles Stilinski isn't wasted with sleep," Lydia said before suggestively sucking on her lollipop.

"Seriously, don't," Stiles hissed to her, "according to gossip I'm the suicidal nut job having an affair with the guidance councilor."

"That's just gossip," Lydia said with a wicked look in her eyes, "I'm giving then some facts to get their panties in a twist over."

They both took notes, sucked on their lollipops, and when their teacher had finally finished giving them their instructions and set them to work all they had left were sticks.

Some students in the class put in their earbuds and started playing music. Lydia paused and waited to see if Stiles would follow suit. He frowned at her before he realized what she was waiting for.

"Oh, it's okay, I don't need it right now. Maybe if there's a distraction later."

Lydia smiled, widely, and scruffed his hair a little.

"Good for you."

"Hey," Stiles's eyes widened and he pointed to her mouth, "let me see your tongue!"

Lydia appeared taken aback by his demand, before realizing what it must be about.

"No," she said, putting her hand to her mouth.

"Oh go on, I showed you mine," Stiles whined.

"And you wonder where the gossip starts," Lydia said with a eye roll, before lowering her hand and poking out her purple tongue. "There, happy?"

"Very." Stiles nodded, before turning back to his notes.

They wrote for a little while longer, pausing to put their heads together over a problem. At the end of the class the teacher handed out their homework assignments, check boxes and all, and paused beside Stiles.

"Everything okay today?"

Stiles nodded, distracted by trying to fit the notes and homework sheet into his back pack now he had an extra book.

"I can write you a note if you have a headache."

"I'm fine, I promise," Stiles looked up at his teacher and smiled.

"We have a free period now anyway," Lydia stood beside him and took over the organisation of his backpack.

The teacher left and Lydia pulled out a copy of 'A Tree, a Rock, a Cloud'.

"Is this another one for me?"

Stiles took it back and flicked the bookmark with his finger.

"I'm not finished yet. Oh but I did memorize something from it and I was kinda saving it for you."

Lydia beamed at this, finished repacking his backpack so it could zip closed again, and linked arms with him as they left the class to head to the quad.

"Well, go on then, shower me with words."

Stiles tried not to look bashful as they walked down the hall.

"Just gimme a sec," Stiles said, and ran through the passage in his head to make sure he had it.

They stepped out into the sunlight and made their way down the steps. Lydia turned toward him and gave him a smile that let him know he had as much time as he needed, she was happy to wait. Stiles nodded to himself and cleared his throat, looking up to meet her eyes.

"I'm not explaining this right. What happened was this. There were these beautiful feelings and loose little pleasures inside me. And this woman was something like an assembly line for my soul. I run these little pieces of myself through her and I come out complete. Now do you follow me?"

She threw herself at him. He was so stunned he didn't hug her back or make any kind of offhanded comment.

"Wow," Kira gasped and Lydia and Stiles jumped apart.

Lydia laughed, brightly, wiping her eyes as surreptitiously as she could get away with. Stiles looked from Kira and Scott to Lydia and back. He didn't quite know what had happened or where they had come from.

"Had you finished?" Kira looked concerned that her exclamation had interrupted him.

"Yeah, um... You heard?"

"Was that one of your memory exercises?" Scott asked, as he put his arm around Kira and squeezed her into his side.

"It was beautiful," Lydia told Scott, she didn't seem to know if she should be smiling or serious. "A memory exercise is just some arbitrary sentences recited verbatim. That was like a... It's like when a guy makes you a mix of songs he needs you to hear."

Stiles found himself grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze.

"It just made me think of you. Like it was something you should hear."

They walked to an empty bench so they could all sit together and Stiles fiddled with one of the straps of his backpack while they looked at him and each other with sappy smiles on their faces.

"I could recite the lyrics to Baby Got Back too," Stiles offered.

And there it was, Lydia shoved him, Scott cracked up and Kira bounced with excitement as if she really wanted that to actually happen. Normality again.

About time.

* * *

He watched from his cruiser as Stiles bounded away from the school building and simultaneously reached for his keys and looked for his Jeep.

It was only a second, if that, but it happened.

He was going for his keys and his Jeep, and then caught himself and looked for the cruiser instead. He remembered that the Sheriff was picking him up. He remembered that his Jeep was still getting fixed. He remembered he didn't need his car keys.

The Sheriff waited for Stiles to spot him and then raised a hand to wave at him.

Honestly, it was more like Stiles was on autopilot than he was shaking off the last of his memory issues. How many times had he walked into a room to get something and then drawn a blank on what exactly that thing was? He sometimes took a left when he meant to take a right, because left was the route home. As harmless as he knew the lapses over the Jeep were, he still felt a small ache for his boy's slowly healing head.

It was a good ache in a way.

He'd seen the painfully slow deterioration of a mind and to watch Stiles' slowly get better was almost giddying. Stiles opened the passenger side door and dropped himself into the seat, grinning lazily.

"Hey Daddio!"

"Oh no, what did you do now?"

"What?" Stiles was instantly defensive, pushing his backpack into the foot well between his legs.

"Are you in trouble, failing a class, or have you fallen in love?"

"Are those three connected?" Stiles narrowed his eyes and gave it serious consideration.

"I'll get it out of you somehow," the Sheriff said as he pulled out of his parking spot, "seat-belt."

Stiles did as he was told without comment. Either he'd really worn himself out or something was weighing heavily on his mind. He was glad he'd decided to pick him up and spend the last few hours of his shift with him at the station now. Even if he got caught up with something, there would be somebody at the station to make sure he was okay, somebody to talk to.

"Any homework to do? I can find you a nice quiet holding cell if you want some privacy," he asked as he glimpsed Stiles drumming his fingers against his leg.

"Some physics, an essay for next week, and I have to read a chapter by tomorrow."

"I mean it, if you want to make a start on it at the station let me know and I'll find you somewhere out of the way."

"It's fine, I'll take an empty desk and use my earbuds."

"Okay then," said the Sheriff, "I think Rodriguez will have finished his shift by the time we get there. You can use his space."

"Cool," Stiles said, staring out of the window at the passing scenery. "So I talked to Ms Ramsey about going to therapy today."

That was it.

"Oh good," was all he could come up with.

He didn't want to pry straight away.

They made the last turn before the station. They'd have to stop the car and get out, then walk into the station and people would all want to talk to one or the other of them. He'd have to say something soon.

"I got a lollipop," Stiles said, looking away from the window and back at him, a smile dimpling his cheek.

"Do I get a lollipop?"

"Only if you're good."

"I'm the Sheriff, of course I'm good."

"We'll see," Stiles said with feigned nonchalance as he faced front again.

"Are you trying to bribe me?"

He parked the car and shifted in his seat towards Stiles, leaning one arm against the steering wheel.

"I got a lollipop for being open to therapy like a good boy," Stiles said, before unbuckling his seat-belt.

"So you'll go?" The Sheriff was unable to hide his optimistic excitement.

"If you're a good boy too," Stiles gave him a cocky look and he knew he was walking into something.

"Meaning?"

"Well, Ms Ramsey got me thinking that I'd be willing to go to therapy if you went to therapy too. If you do, you'll get a lollipop as well."

"You want us to go to therapy together?" He was pretty sure Stiles would never open up like he needed to if he was sitting right beside him

"I want you to go to therapy to talk to somebody about all your internalized crap," Stiles paused and then nodded, "and I'll go to therapy and talk to somebody about mine."

Stiles grabbed his backpack and opened the door. The Sheriff just watched him with his mouth hanging open. He slammed the door and set off for the doors, waving as he went.

"I'll see you in there, Daddio!"


	11. Chapter 11

Burnt marshmallow.

He was on his way back from the store, muttering to himself about how grocery bags were really inconvenient things to carry when you weren't just taking them from the checkout to your car, when he caught the smell on the air. He gripped the bag to himself and looked around.

Was he imagining it? Was it a flashback? What if he was about to have a stroke, wasn't that something to do with a burning smell?

No, he had to take a deep breath, close his eyes and let it out, and set the bag down at his feet.

"Okay," he said to himself, following his internal instructions.

The bag was down, the smell was still there, he looked around again. This had to be a simple thing, there was a reason for this and he'd feel stupid in about five seconds.

He counted to five.

Burnt marshmallow.

"No, no, no, no. Do it again!" He scolded himself.

Again he took in a deep breath, closed his eyes and exhaled as slowly as he could.

He swallowed against his now dry throat, and fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He opened up his recently dialed list and jabbed at a number close to the top. Anyone he'd called or been called by in the last couple of days would do. He just had to call someone. They'd talked about this in therapy.

The phone rang and Stiles looked around for the source of the smell again.

The ringing stopped.

"Stiles?"

"Derek," it was Derek's number, okay, "Derek I need you to come or get somebody to come. Now please."

"I'm on my way, where are you?"

Stiles could hear a burst of activity at the other end of the line. Derek was obviously grabbing keys, a jacket, weapons, God knows what.

"I'm between Arteagas and home. I'm walking home."

"I'm going to keep talking to you while I come to get you, okay?" Derek spoke calmly and confidently.

It definitely put Stiles a little more at ease.

"Okay," Stiles said as he closed his eyes to exhale again.

"Are you having a panic attack?"

"No," he sounded shaky as he answered, he knew it, but embarrassment could wait until afterwards. "I'm just trying not to think. I started thinking myself into a state and I had to stop and put my stuff down and I'm just breathing to try to calm down."

"That's good but the babbling isn't, take another breath, okay?"

Stiles took a breath in, closed his eyes and let it out. Then another in...and let it go.

"That's good Stiles, I'm almost there and you sound like you don't even need me anymore."

"You're still coming, right?" Stiles' eyes snapped open.

"I'm still coming," Derek said, still sounding as if he was the most laid back emergency contact person ever.

"Because I can still smell it and I need you to tell me it's real."

"Breathing, Stiles, just keep breathing."

Stiles nodded and closed his eyes and focus on the measured breathing again. He could hear the sounds of Derek's car, and his repetition of the phrase 'nearly there'. The sound of a car door slamming closed made him jump so badly he had to juggle his phone to keep it from hitting the pavement.

"Stiles?" It was Deputy Cordova, he'd pulled over and got out to see what was wrong.

"Oh thank you!" Stiles blurted and lifted the phone to his head to tell Derek somebody else was here. He'd accidentally hung up on Derek during the saving of the phone.

"Are you okay? Do you need me to call somebody?" Cordova was looking him up and down with concern.

"I already did, somebody's coming," Stiles found that the tremors were coming back after the adrenaline rush of Cordova's appearance.

"Do you want to sit down in the cruiser for a minute?"

"No, I'm fine," Stiles grinned in a way that could only have looked scary. "Well maybe...okay."

He let Cordova open the passenger side door and he sat, sideways on, in the passenger seat. Cordova went back to pick up his grocery bag and set it beside him on the curb.

"Would you like to speak to your dad?" Cordova asked, just as the dramatic screech of breaks caught their attention.

They both gaped as a Toyota ejected Derek, his eyes wide, and kept rumbling away with the key in the ignition.

"What happened, what's wrong?" Derek demanded of Stiles and Cordova.

"I dropped my phone and hung up on you, sorry," Stiles explained, fingers tapping rapidly against his phone and his knee.

"Before that!" Derek snapped, Cordova gave him an unimpressed look. "What spooked you?"

Stiles turned his phone over and over in his hands.

"I... Can you smell burnt marshmallow?"

Derek stood up straight and looked around the neighborhood, he kind of looked like a meerkat. Cordova visibly sniffed and frowned.

"I think so," the Deputy said, doing the same thing Stiles had, and looking around for the source of the smell, with no luck.

Derek crouched down before Stiles and looked him in the eye.

"There's kids making s'mores somewhere over there," he nodded towards a tall hedge around somebody's yard. "It's overdone marshmallow, Stiles, you're not imagining it."

Stiles sagged with relief and Derek braced him with a strong hand against his shoulder.

"Shall I call the Sheriff?" Cordova asked Derek.

Derek glanced up and considered the Deputy for a moment.

"Don't worry him, but let him know," Derek said with a nod, "and thank you for stopping to help him. I wasn't close enough."

There was a moment between the two men when Stiles wondered if Cordova would make a comment about Derek always being nearby and first on the scene as far as Stiles was concerned, but it didn't happen.

"I can take him home if you..." Cordova began.

"No, it's fine, he called me." Derek turned his attention back to Stiles. "I'll take you back home, that's where you were heading, right?"

Stiles nodded and fumbled his phone back into his pocket, before reaching for his grocery bag.

"I got that," Derek picked up the bag and carried it to his car.

Stiles followed, passing Cordova and lightly patting him on the back.

"Thanks, and sorry."

Stiles headed towards Derek's car and hesitated, looking back at Cordova, thoughtfully.

"You wanna come over an eat with us? I'm making healthy Mexican tonight?"

"Is that possible?" Cordova teased.

"I'm trying this thing I found online, Baked Chiles Rellenos. Y'know, baked instead of fried...so it's healthier."

"We'll see," Cordova said with a smirk.

"That means no," Stiles opened the passenger side door to the Toyota. "You always used to come over to sample my experiments."

"That's because you always used to experiment with cake!" Cordova grinned and waited to wave them off.

Derek drove away with Stiles and the groceries, and before an awkward conversation could be struck up he was pulling into the driveway.

"Thanks, Derek."

"Anytime," he said, hands still on the wheel.

"Um, do you want to have some healthy Chiles Rellenos with us?"

Derek turned to look at him, the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

"I don't think your dad would appreciate that."

"My dad will appreciate that you came to get me," Stiles assured him, "and that you talked to me the whole time so I didn't spiral into a panic attack. He'd like that you remembered the breathing stuff they told me to do and made sure I kept my mind on doing that instead of..."

"Overdone s'mores?"

Stiles looked down at his hands.

"Burnt marshmallow."

They sat in the car like that for long enough that Derek felt the need to turn off the engine. Then it was long enough for the engine to cool down.

"Pills?" Derek asked.

"None, I promise," he answered before shifting around to look Derek in the eye, "do the heartbeat thing. I haven't got a stash of Adderall anywhere and I'm only taking what my dad gives me every morning."

Derek listened and then nodded.

"Good for you."

"Just a sense memory?" Stiles asked and Derek nodded, he seemed to know that feeling. "I guess if anyone knows what it's like to freak out about the smell of burning... Sorry. I need to not be talking for a while longer. You can go."

Stiles got out of the car and grabbed his grocery bag.

"Thanks for the ride and coming to get me and answering the phone. Generally everything."

Stiles closed the door and hurried to the front door to let himself in.

"Always call me," Derek said, having got out of the car so quietly that Stiles spun around and looked from the empty driver's seat to Derek standing before him at least three times.

"You'll regret saying that," Stiles chuckled, "they always do."

Derek took a step closer.

" _Always_ call me," his words were a clear command. "You're my friend, Stiles."

"Friends? That's new."

"It's not as new as you'd think."

Stiles opened the door and looked back to see if Derek was coming inside with him or not.

"Are you making some kind of spicy tomato sauce with these things?" Derek gestured to the bag.

"I can do, if I have time," Stiles stepped inside and waited for Derek to follow.

Follow he did, Stiles headed for the kitchen and Derek closed the door behind them.

"I can make a decent spicy sauce," Derek said, as if it was no big deal.

"Cool, so dinner for three as long as you supply a kick ass sauce."

"As long as you don't expect me to wear an apron," Derek grunted.

"Oh well now you _have_ to wear an apron!" Stiles grinned as he fell comfortably back into asshole mode.

* * *

He'd wanted to drive home right away when Cordova told him about finding Stiles standing on the pavement with his eyes closed, breathing slowly.

Some kind of sense memory had been triggered and he'd taken care of himself, called for help, and let Cordova and then Derek Hale look after him.

Hale...Derek hadn't been lurking close by. He hadn't been first on the scene. He'd given Stiles his space back, while still being able to be there as soon as he was needed. He could have rushed home immediately but chose to see out the last two and a half hours of his shift as normal.

He hoped it sent a message to Derek that he was trusted, to Stiles that he didn't need saving by anyone, and to everyone who knew Sheriff Stilinski that a Stilinski was like a phoenix. Just when you thought they were all burnt out, they came back blazing brighter than ever.

He left the station on foot, the cruiser could stay there for the night, and sent a text to Stiles to let him know to expect him half an hour later than usual.

He walked along the pavement in his uniform, getting some odd looks from passing motorists, and he thought about how Stiles described the looks he got when he was walking around the school with his guidance councilor. He suddenly laughed aloud to himself as he imagined himself carrying a butterfly net. He understood why Stiles wanted to do it now. If everybody's looking and thinking how weird you are, why not give them something to really blow their mind?

There was a place to buy flowers, he knew it well enough, and a pet store next to it. The Sheriff stopped and picked up a small bunch of flowers, Claudia Lily Tulips, and then bought a cheap little net for fish tanks at the pet store.

He made his way to the familiar spot, sat on the grass, and set the flowers down.

"From me," he said with a smile.

Then he pushed the handle of the tiny net into the ground in front of the headstone.

"That's a little bit of Stiles for you," he knew if there was anything after death, Claudia would get this joke and love it.

He looked to the sky and sighed before lowering his eyes back to the words on the stone in front of him.

"This one's been long and hard, sweetheart. This one really hurt." He paused to bite his lip. "This one got real and stayed real. There wasn't a supernatural get out clause, we just had to work...really hard. God, Claud, he worked _so_ hard, you'd be so proud of him."

A breeze caught the little net and filled it up like a strange wind sock.

"I'm glad this didn't take anything from him. I was afraid there were going to be pieces gone but he's just...de-cluttered. He's made more room for himself inside that head of his."

The Sheriff shook his head in disbelief.

"That amazing head. I mean how did the two of us make that brain, Claudia? How in heck did we do that? We were a pair of idiots. Maybe we're like the infinite monkeys sitting at typewriters. Of all the idiots making babies, you and me got together and we... we were that one monkey who wrote Hamlet."

He laughed and rubbed his face.

"As you can probably tell, I've been going to therapy!"

He looked at his watch and his shoulders fell.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, but I have to get to the garage before they close," he got to his feet with a grunt. "I'm about to make our boy's eyes go all big and 'Disney', that was what you used to say huh?

He left the cemetery and continued his detour home.

By the time he let himself in, he was a little later than he'd said, but Stiles was laughing and that meant it clearly didn't matter.

"Bet you wish you'd worn the apron now, huh?" Stiles said through his ongoing fit of giggles.

The Sheriff was about to ask who he was talking to when Derek Hale stepped close enough to loom, furiously, over Stiles. Stiles found this even more hysterical, though he was trying to act as if his amusement was dying. The fury was fake, he could see now, but there was a kind of grumpy embarrassment that was pretty obviously because he was covered in red spatters.

"That had better not be the blood of the innocent," the Sheriff called as he closed the door behind him to get their attention.

What do you know? He _could_ sneak up on a werewolf...as long as they were covered in goo and being goaded by his son.

"Hey dad!" Stiles entire face lit up and his posture seemed to give him an extra inch or two in height. "Guess what?"

"Don't say it," Derek warned.

"Dinner's on Derek!" Stiles clearly expected some kind of 'ba _dum tss_ ' to punctuate his joke, settling for jazz hands instead.

He looked to Derek, who may have been about to break his own jaw with the force he was clenching it, and pointed from his appearance to the kitchen behind him.

"Do I want to see what my kitchen looks like?"

"Your kitchen's fine, he manged to get every last spatter on me," Derek growled.

Stiles flailed, still not making any attempt to stop grinning.

"This was _not_ my fault! You were the spicy sauce guy. I have this whole meal underway and all you had to do was blend. You, a blender and spicy tomatoes. It's all on you."

Stiles had set himself off again.

" _On_ him! Oh my God I didn't even do that on purpose!"

"Well, here I was thinking I was going to be the person to put you on cloud nine tonight." The Sheriff said, acting disappointed.

"Huh? Why?" Stiles finally started to calm down after that.

"I just wanted to come home, act like it was a normal boring day, take this key off my key ring and give it back to you..."

"Wha... My key? But why d..." Stiles froze.

The Sheriff felt Claudia high fiving him inside he head. There were the Disney eyes.

"Where?" Stiles demanded.

"Where it should be, in the driveway."

Stiles barreled him and Derek out of the way and flung himself against the door. He yanked it open and literally screamed.

" _My baby!_ "

The Sheriff shared an eye roll with Derek and followed his son outside, taking out his phone and getting the camera ready to take a picture for Scott. He would want a record of this moment.

The moment of Stiles attempting to hug a Jeep.

"Is it okay? Does everything work? Can I drive it?"

"No!" Derek barked from behind him.

The Sheriff gave him a cautious look and Derek shuffled his feet and started wiping his tomato spattered face with a towel.

"I mean, only when you're doctor says so...and your dad."

"Yeah," the Sheriff shrugged, "what he said."

Stiles now flung himself at his father.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"No home mechanic crap, ever again! No Googling auto repairs. No Australian You Tube videos. N-"

"What if it's a You Tube video of a Koala?" Stiles interrupted.

"Are you even listening?" The Sheriff really needed a drink before a conversation with Stiles in 'tangent mode'.

"Are you saying that every Australian person on You Tube is trying to kill me? Because I'm pretty sure we agreed it was the bike's fault."

"You talking and me remaining silent is not an agreement, Stiles."

Stiles opened his mouth to deliver his rebuttal when Derek cleared his throat.

"Stiles, oven."

"Oh crap!" Stiles stumbled back to the kitchen to check on his masterpiece.

"Well that was short-lived," the Sheriff said, closing the door behind him and brushing a tomato seed off Derek's shoulder as he passed.

"It'll come back around again in a few minutes, don't worry," Derek muttered. "Can I clean myself up somewhere?"

"Sure, the bathroom's..." the Sheriff remembered that Derek probably knew the layout of his house better than he did, "...exactly where it was when you cleaned it up. Go ahead."

The Sheriff followed Stiles into the kitchen and watched him lift a tray of stuffed peppers or something out of the oven.

"Taste Derek's sauce, it's amazing!" Stiles instructed.

The Sheriff waited for the hot tray to be set down and Stiles to take off the oven mitts. Before he dragged him into a tight hug.

"Wha...dad?"

"Cordova told me you did really well," he spoke into Stiles' hair in a low voice, "and I'm really proud of you. You dealt with it by yourself and..."

"I made you Chiles Rellenos, that's what this is," Stiles squeezed his father's body in return and nodded towards the tray. "They're baked instead of fried, that's the only difference."

They broke the hug and Stiles went back to focusing on serving up their dinner.

"So I'm giving you your key back," the Sheriff took the key to the Jeep and set it in the middle of the table, "and I'm giving your your meds back. You won't drive until the doctor tells you it's safe, and you won't abuse your meds because I trust you not to. Okay?"

Stiles bit his lip and turned to face him, shaking his head after a brief pause.

"Not the Adderall, not yet." He said, looking unnaturally serious. "I promise I won't drive and I promise not to abuse the anti depressants but...just give me another week and then we can try giving me back the Adderall, huh?"

The Sheriff's small, proud smile broke into a grin.

"That sounds like a good plan."

* * *

 _A/N Just an epilogue to go and then it's finished. Thank you to the people who left reviews as I wrote this, it really helped to know it was working for you._


	12. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Stiles threw down his back pack, shrugged off his jacket, flung open the fridge and unscrewed the cap of the juice bottle and took a deep swig before he turned and jumped at the sight of his father.

He was sitting at the table with a bottle of scotch in front of him.

"Uh, dad?"

He smiled at Stiles and nodded to the chair across from him.

"Sit down, son."

Stiles sat down and set his bottle of juice in front of him, a mirror of his father with his scotch.

"What's up?" Stiles was slowly filling with dread as his father reached into his pocket and took out a bottle of pills.

He set it down and slid it across the table toward Stiles.

"Your Adderall," he said, pulling back his hand.

Stiles withdrew his hands toward himself, but kept them on the table, and looked back into the tired blue eyes with concern.

"I don't understand," he said, uncharacteristically meek, "I...I want you to keep them for me. Just, you know, just a little while longer. I'm not ready."

"Stiles..."

"I don't trust myself yet," he found his voice again and pushed the bottle back towards his dad.

"And I trust you," he said, pushing the bottle of pills back once more.

"But..."

"We need to be equals in this, Stiles, and so far we haven't been." His dad began, his voice low, clear, and very calm. "You have put everything on the table for me. You've handed responsibilities over to me. You've given me control of an important aspect of your life. You have a dependency, not an addiction, but a dependency that you feel as if you need help controlling."

Stiles nodded, eyes flicking over to the bottle of Scotch.

"I've so much respect for you, Stiles. Therapy has had me talking about how overwhelming you are. You think it's a bad thing, you think I'm overwhelmed by your hyper-activeness, your lifestyle. I'm overwhelmed by your potential, how you fulfilled it, surpassed it, and now you're setting the bar so high... NASA would have to be called in to get someone else over that bar!"

Stiles squirmed, never one to be able to take a compliment.

"So we are going to do one of two things, and you're going to decide which one. I trust your judgement implicitly."

Stiles drew in a breath and let it out, a little unsteadily, before nodding again.

His dad slid the bottle of scotch across the table to sit beside the bottle of Adderall.

"I know I shouldn't and yet sometimes I still do. You can take your dose every day and be fine. I can have a drink and be fine. Sometimes you think you can't cope and you take more pills. Sometimes I feel that way and I drink more than I should."

"Dad, it's not the sam-"

"It's not the same, but it's parallel," he smiled to reassure his son he wasn't declaring himself an alcoholic. "So, as I said, we have two choices."

"Okay, what are they?" Stiles sat forward over the side of the table.

"You take responsibility for your meds and you come to me if you feel things are too much for you. I take responsibility for my drinking and if I feel like it's one of those nights I come and talk to you."

Stiles nodded, swallowed, and reached for his pills. He looked reluctant but resolved.

" _Or_ ," his dad reached and placed his hand on top of Stiles before his fingers curled around the bottle, "I take back your pills and give them to you when you're supposed to have them, and only the correct dose, until you're ready."

Stiles looked relieved and was about to nod again when his dad looked at the bottle of Scotch, seal still unbroken.

"And you take this from me, so you decide when and how much I can have. So you know exactly how much I have had. Because, Stiles, we're equals. We're both strong enough for each other but weak when it comes to ourselves. So if you need me to stay strong for you a little while longer then you do the same for me."

"Dad." Stiles exhaled the word, in awe of the conversation they were having like two well adjusted adults.

"I told you you were a hero once and you disagreed with me. I wasn't lying. I wasn't wrong. You were a hero then and you're a hero now. You're _my_ hero, Stiles."

Stiles felt as if his throat had clenched into a fist. He gulped and croaked and tried to keep his eyes from watering.

"I want to be as good as you," his dad said, earnestly, "and when you think I am, we can swap these bottles back and take responsibility for ourselves again."

Stiles dragged himself up from the table, around it, and clung to his dad from the side, crushing his cheek into his shoulder.

They held each other, silently. When they finally parted again, Stiles rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt as he stumbled back to his seat, they couldn't meet the other's gaze for a while.

Stiles unscrewed the cap of the juice bottle and took another deep swig, then offered it to his dad, who did the same.

"So that was it," his dad said after he swallowed, "I got the whole thing out. Now, just choose which you want. I'm there for you either way. Which bottle do you take away from the table tonight?"

Stiles smiled, the last of the weight fully gone from his shoulders, and he pulled the bottle of scotch toward him without hesitation.

"Until we're both ready," Stiles said.

His dad took back the bottle of pills and slipped it into his pocket.

"We take care of each other."

* * *

 **The End**

 _A/N Well that was odd, I took 2 days to even get started writing something for the epilogue while I got the chapters out in a day. My brain is a funny thing!_

 _Thank you for the feedback during the writing process._


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